


She Walks In Beauty

by Bead



Series: She Walks In Beauty [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, Romance, Rule 63, Slow Build, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bead/pseuds/Bead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Durinson, head of Durinson & Company, an architectural firm specializing in environmentally responsible design and restoration, focuses all his creative abilities on his work and his affection on his family and old friends.  And then one grey day, a woman in a red coat literally walks into his life, and just like that, everything changes.</p><p>Inspired by a prompt from lostunderthemountain on Oct. 11th, based on this gorgeous <a href="http://tmblr.co/Zt3jXsxSJGW2">photoset</a>. </p><p><b>ME: </b><i>Mmm, rolled up sleeves, and who are you looking at, dearie, in that last frame?</i> </p><p><b>lostunderthemountain:</b> <i>OH! Modern AU in New York: Thorin Durinson is the is the Head of a global company that is continually under threat from Smaug’s (cause like they differ on many opinions or something….).</i></p><p>  <i>Anyway, one morning he’s getting out of a taxi outside of the company’s building when he catches sight of one Miss Bella Baggins (not that he knows her name) and instantly his world freezes…until Fili shoves him to try to get him to move…</i></p><p>Title from Lord Byron's poem <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/She_Walks_in_Beauty">"She Walks in Beauty"</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Flash of Red

**Author's Note:**

> Grown up Belladonna is using her full name and grown up nickname, instead of Billa, which is my headcanon childish nickname from Primula that stuck. It's just more businesslike. 
> 
> Thorin began to take on some of the adorably shy mannerisms and thoughtful reflection I've observed from Richard Armitage's interviews/quotes, so I let him. He's an avowed homebody, so I'm keeping that, too. Also, I made him a wee bit shorter, to make their height difference more like 8 inches over 11. (Bella's 5'4"ish in her stocking feet.)
> 
> Vetted and brit-picked as far as possible by me, and vetted in part by lostunderthemountain and my dear kitrazzle, who holds my hand and tells me I'm not crazy when I pounce on her in gmail chat and ask to be assured thereof.
> 
>  
> 
> **ETA!: ART!![Here](http://bead-bead.tumblr.com/post/64863421266/rocks0cks-for-the-cutest-damn-fic-ever-she#notes) is a lovely little sketch by rocks0cks of Bella in Thorin's coat!**

Thorin ducks through an alley, snapping his coat around him, ideas for the factory renovation already unfurling, in well-ordered, clean, geometric lines. When he reaches the sidewalk, Kili’s half a block...north..down...away from him, cab waiting, laughing his head off. 

“You got lost _on the way to the street?”_ his nephew hoots. “It was a straight line! I was _right in front of you!_ And I had all our gear to carry!” 

“Oh, shut it,” Thorin says, with long suffering exasperation. “And get in the cab.” 

“Only you,” Kili continues to tease. “Only you could get lost...leave you alone with a building for _five minutes_ ….” his voice is muffled while he loads their gear into the cab as Thorin waits, not entirely patiently. Kili could have done this while he was waiting for him. 

In the corner of his vision, a flash of red swirls to the curb ahead of them, and Thorin turns to follow it. 

Beautiful, whoever she is, the skirt of a dark red trench coat swirling above her knees as she hurries to hail a cab, red suede shoes clicking on the pavement, her tawny hair streaming behind her, and a suitcase valiantly bumping along in her wake. 

Thorin just stops, watching the vivid splash of her against the grey day, grayer sidewalk and black street, every line of her impatient and intent on waving down a cab. 

His fingers curl, and he has the sudden itch to draw something other than architectural plans for the first time in ages. She's all movement and curves, from toned calf to graceful hand, the swing of her coat and her wind blown hair. A lush, voluptuous woman, her coat is nipped in tight at the waist like those pictures of Gran, modeling after the war, all tiny waists and wide skirts and collars framing her face. 

Unlike Gran's pictures, her hair isn’t pulled back severely, but whips out of its’ clasp in curly waves just past her shoulders… it’s, he’s not sure what color it is, bronzeish blond brown and a little red..he just can’t quite pin down the shade and puzzles at it as Kili is tugging at him, via voice and a hand on the hem of his coat. Thorin goes, very slowly folding himself into the cab, stalling in hopes to catch a glimpse of her face. 

She turns, still trying to catch a cab, their eyes meet, and Thorin stops again, cab door open, and shares a rare mutual look of interest with a beautiful woman, this woman, one without the frozen New York mask of indifference and boredom, but a face as alive and vivid as a swirl of a red on a grey day.

Relaxing her arm slightly, cab forgotten for the moment, she smiles, brows starting to form a friendly frown as if she’s trying to place him. Seemingly out of nowhere, a bus eels around their cab and passes her at speed, throwing up a wave of muck and cold, dirty water that sloshes over half of her from cheekbone to toes. 

She gasps in shock, and Thoin is out of the cab, automatically ordering Kili and the driver to wait, and already pulling out his handkerchief, heading for where she stands, hands splayed out in dismay. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, offering her the handkerchief. She stares at it and him blankly. “My fault for distracting you. New York traffic. It’s a bit of a full time occupation to watch the street, which is why I have my nephew do it.” 

“I’m meant to be at an interview in half an hour,” she says faintly, staring at the wreck of her coat. She flings a stream of muck off her hand into the gutter. 

“Oh no. I truly apologize, miss. Please,” he offers the handkerchief again.

“Oh,” she says, blinking at him, her tone rich with the relief of being offered water in the desert. _”Yorkshire.”_ Her posh accent puts her around Cambridge. She finally registers the handkerchief. “Thank you.” She takes it gratefully in her clean hand and peels her dirty hair away from her face to wipe off her cheek. “Sorry. A bit homesick.” 

“Always good to hear a familiar accent.” 

“ _Very_ ,” she replies. “Wait, will you hold this for a second? Here’s a clean corner.” 

“Of course.” He waits while she unclasps her barrette and fights to get the whole mass of her hair into it, scooping back the muddy strands which keep trying to drop forward. The clasp is clearly not going to hold up to the strain. Head bent, she gives a little growl and actually stamps one frustrated, elegant heel, and Thorin can’t help but feel a small swell of fondness for her, because that’s _adorable._

“Wait,” he interrupts her struggle. “My sister does a thing.” Thorin digs in his pocket with his free hand and brings out a sharpened pencil, something his nephews always tease him about, but he prefers the feel of it and loves the ritual of sharpening it as he drafts, and how it gives him time to think. Offering it to her, he explains, miming the motions, “She twists it up and then…” 

“Oh yes, I’ve done that, too, thank you.” She stuffs the clasp into her pocket, and has her hair twisted into a loose chignon in seconds. She jabs the pencil in with rather disturbing force but seems alright. More than alright. She really shouldn’t be that lovely with black mud draggling through a good chunk of her hair and trailing along her cheek. His fingers curl again, itching for charcoal, no, _oils._ Her English rose complexion demands oils.

She starts to unpick the sodden mess that is the belt of her trenchcoat, and once undone, Thorin darts forward to help her get it off without getting more muck on her (the skirt has a two inch line of mud on one side and the right leg of her tights looks like black on black modern art) and carefully folds her coat over her suitcase. She gives him a grateful nod. 

“So much better,” she sighs. “Might I borrow back the handkerchief to wipe off my hand, Mr….” 

“Durinson. Thorin Durinson,” he murmurs, offering his hand. “Currently of New York, late of Yorkshire and Cambridge.” 

“Bella. Belladonna Baggins, ” she replies, offering a wan smile. “Late of Hobbiton and Cambridge. King’s College.” 

“Fancy that. Also of King’s College.” he says with a half-bow he dredges up from Gran’s dance lessons of thirty years ago, which earns him a slightly warmer smile. 

“Please, Miss Baggins, I feel wretched about this. Take my cab, I can have my nephew out of it in a moment - “ 

“Oh, no, no, I couldn’t.” 

“Would you allow us to drop you at your hotel, or…” 

Bella’s chin wobbles slightly and Thorin feels like an utter bastard for putting that look on her face. “I don’t have a hotel,” she says in a tight voice. “I was staying with my cousin, and she...she….I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” Her voice quivers alarmingly and she sucks in a breath and looks at the sky. A dollop of mud from her coat audibly hits the pavement, and she makes a tiny, close-mouthed scream of rage.

“Don’t tell, me,” Thorin says in his driest voice. “She’s a troll.” 

To his relief, she bursts out laughing, though it starts out a bit watery, and gazes at him in bewildered delight, nodding. “That is it, that is _exactly_ it. Lobelia is a bloody, estate-grubbing, grandmother’s-jewelry-nicking, black-hearted, gossiping embezzling _troll._ ” 

“Trolls,” he says wisely in his most Yorkshire pudding-thick accent. “Always after treasure.” 

She throws back her head and laughs and Thorin shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles at the pavement. Laughing, Bella’s actually a little too beautiful to look at, and he can quite vividly imagine stepping forward, reaching out, wrapping an arm around her waist and bending to press his mouth to her lovely throat, so he looks at the ground and listens, entranced. 

Her laughter slows and she puffs out the first relaxed breath he’s heard in their entire (less than ten minute) acquaintance and says ruefully. “I need to call my interview and reschedule.” 

When he looks up, he catches her shivering in sweater, skirt and ruined tights as she digs her phone out of her handbag. Kicking himself internally, he shrugs out of his coat and offers it. With a grateful glance, she threads her arm through the sleeve and then stops short, snickering, and waves what looks like a still half-empty sleeve at him. He smiles and helps her with the other sleeve and then stands back to get the full effect.

The coat swallows her. Thorin’s a hair over six feet tall, and the coat hits him above the knee, but on Bella’s petite frame, it floats around midcalf, and pushing the sleeves up so her hands can access the world bunches it comically up her arms. She smacks a hand to her forehead and laughs. “Reschedule. Definitely reschedule.” She waves her arms, and the sleeves shoot down and flop about. I mugged a giant. Hire me!" 

“I’m not _that_ tall.” Thorin replies, defensive. “Hardly ever crush villages underfoot.” 

“Giant.” She nods her head and flaps the sleeves at him again. He cocks an eyebrow at her.

“And now you’re just doing a scene from Monty Python's 'Meaning of Life.’” 

Giggling, her hands emerge and she shakes the phone at him this time. “Stop, I have to be very professional and serious.” Thorin raises both eyebrows innocently and she waves a sleeve at him again and growls, then starts scrolling through her phone.

“Right. Do that, and I’ll just check with Kili a moment and then we’ll figure it out from there.” He bends his knees slightly so that he can catch her eye.” “All right, Miss Baggins?” 

“Bella, please.” 

“If you’ll call me Thorin.” 

She beams at him shyly. “Yes, thank you, really, Thorin. You’re being just lovely.” 

“I ruined your day, Bella,” he says, in all sincerity. “It’s the least I - “ 

“No. No no no no, a cousin and a bus ruined my day,” she corrects him, pointing at him with her phone. “Now shoo, go practice The Parrot Sketch with your nephew or something. I’ll be quick.” 

“‘Pinin',” he quotes to her as he backs away, smiling. “Pinin’ for the fjords. Lovely bird. Beautiful Plumage.” Bella, grinning, stamps her foot again (mud drips off her shoe) and points an quelling finger at him as she tries to stifle a snort. Clearly the phone is ringing on the other end, and she darts him a warm glance as it connects, and the teasing light in her eye becomes professional and smooth. 

Thorin leans in the cab and Kili has scooted over to the near side and is goggling at him. 

“You. I. _Wow._ ” 

“Kili,” Thorin replies warningly. 

“You’re _flirting_ ,” Kili says, amazed. “I didn’t think you _could._ I feel. I feel _proud_ and a little afraid because, wow Uncle. Just. Wow.” 

“Not flirting,” Thorin feels like he needs to defend himself. “Just talking to her and apologizing…” 

“And being awesome and funny and acting _like a person flirting._ You made her laugh. You’re not funny around people you haven't known for ten years or are related to! Meaning you’re hardly funny ever! You get all...I don’t know, hermit-y and shy, but you made her laugh a lot. And she got _really_ muddy, and seemed upset. That is just. _Uncle_.” The last time Kili looked at him with such astonished admiration, he was twelve and Thorin had accidentally exploded the garden shed. 

Thorin narrows his eyes at him. “Did you take a video with your phone? Tell me you didn’t….” Thorin turns to the cabbie. “Please tell me he didn’t.” 

“Naw,” says the driver in a thick local accent. “Just sat there like he was watchin’ a tennis match, wid’ ‘is mout hangin’ open.” 

“Charming,” Thorin says dryly. 

“Not as charmin’ as the two a you.” He points his chin toward Bella, who is pacing in a tight circle next to her suitcase, talking on her phone.

“God, not you, too. Both of you hang on a few moments longer. She doesn’t have a hotel and missed a job interview. I thought we could give her a lift somewhere." 

The cabbie leers, “ _I’d_....” 

Thorin clears his throat and gives the man a quelling look. The driver throws up a hand in surrender and rolls up his window quickly. Thorin glances at Kili, whose mouth is actually hanging open. He snaps it shut. 

“I have to call Fili,” he says, dazed. “He’s not going to believe me.” Thorin reaches over smoothly and takes the phone. 

“I believe you’ll be busy putting our things in the boot, so Bella, so Miss Baggins, will have room to sit.” 

“So it’s _Bella…_ ”

“Boot.” 

“Trunk. Been in America how long? ” 

“Kili.” 

“Look,” Kili says seriously. “Take this cab, I’ll get another and meet you back at the office.” He can’t hold back the gleam in his eyes. “Or not.” 

“Shut. It. Besides, I think. Just.” Thorin blows out a breath. “I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to get her alone or be….slick or whatever.” 

“Right. First rule of dating; do not look like a serial killer.” 

Thorin points at the boot and glares at his nephew, who finally finds it within him to shift his nosy arse. He leans in to whisper to Thorin seriously. 

“Just don’t give her the Look of Disapproval on the first date, okay? It’s very ‘I’m Going to Decorate Using Your Entrails.‘“

Thorin looks him in the eye. “You know I only decorate with the entrails of family,” he says in his lowest voice. Kili moves rather quickly after that. Thorin happens to catch the cab driver darting him a spooked glance. 

“You don’t tease your nephews?” Thorin asks, incredulous, through the window. The cabbie throws up the hand of surrender again, cowering. Thorin gestures for him to roll down the window, and crouches so he’s on eye level with the cabbie. 

“Look, I _was_ teasing him, and I do hope you won’t drive off and leave us. If not for us, for that nice woman, who’s had an awful morning, just as you’ve been witness to. You already know I’m going to tip you hugely for waiting. I’ll tip half again as much. And if you do pull off with even one scrap of our gear with you, I have just memorized your cab number and your name, Frank Cavatelli, 265216, through the window. Might I call you Frank?” 

Frank scowls. “You can call me fuckin’ Cupid, English, and double it. You wouldn’a met her widout I was heah waitin for ya.” 

“You’re all heart. Please open the boot, the...bloody trunk. We’ll put Miss Baggins’ case back there as well. 

“And dat coat! God knows what was in that muck. Don’t want it in heah.” Thorin starts to stand and Frank motions him back down. “Jesus wept, listen to your nephew an’ don’t give her dat Serial Killer look until she knows ya better. Nearly pissed myself.” 

Rolling his eyes as he walks down the block to her, Thorin hears the boot open and sighs with relief. When he reaches Bella, she turns, hunched into his coat. She looks small and frail and pinched around the mouth.

“Bella?” 

He gets a bleak, brittle smile. “They gave it to someone else. Within the company. Probably never had a chance anyway. They _do_ have a nice receptionist position open, which they were going to offer when I arrived, even though I’m _grossly_ overqualified.” She snorts. “And I do realize there are people with masters degrees waiting tables in New York, but _really_ , what awful cheek.” She returns her phone somewhat viciously to her purse.

“Bastards.” 

Her smile goes warmer, becomes real. “Sorry. I'm sounding more and more like some damsel in distress. You don’t have to defend me at every turn, honestly. 

“Actually, the bastards comment was me being honest, and you are in _some_ distress. I feel a bit honor bound to come to your aid, however I can.” 

“Oh, it’s _honor_ bound, is it?” 

“It is,” he says seriously. “Look. I work too much.” Her eyebrows rise at his non sequitur. He holds up a hand, asking for patience. “And I’m often on messy construction sites and then to meetings without a chance to go home and change. Which means when we converted the upper floor of our building into my office, we put in a full bathroom and a little dressing room. I can even provide a decent cup of tea, and my cousin is in this baking mania right now, so there will be _something_ nice to eat. I had Kili with me today so it will not be a desolation of pastry crumbs.”

She shifts, crossing her arms, and tilts her head. “Do also you have one of those little Murphy Bed, pull-out-of-the-wall-things?” Her voice is hard and suspicious as any New Yorker’s.

“Um,” he replies, puzzled, drawing out the word. “I have a nice couch if I pull an all nighter….” The penny drops and this was exactly what he didn’t want her to think. 

“Oh, no. No, Bella. My office. Neutral ground. I won’t even be there. I’ll be….going over my notes from my last meeting. Somewhere. Not where you’re taking a shower and changing and figuring out what to do next in comfort. Seriously. I’ll even set my secretary as a guard if you like. Please." 

By the time he finishes, her mouth is quirking with humor, her eyes dancing, so beautiful. She drops her crossed, combative arms, and nods decisively. The coat sleeves shimmy past down her hands, and she ducks her head, shaking them and huffs out a small, relieved laugh, and Thorin chuckles softly with her, utterly, utterly charmed. 

Bella swallows hard, a small tell of stress, and takes a few deep breaths. Thorin shoves his hands in his pockets again, wishing he could reach out to soothe. She looks up at him, a blush high on her cheekbones, her eyes a bit red, but very composed as she smiles. “That would be very nice, thank you, Mr. Durinson. Very kind.” 

She fussed over his last apology, so Thorin smiles, steps around her to take her coat and bag, and bows slightly as he ushers her to the cab. “My pleasure, Miss Baggins.” 

Thorin is eternally grateful that Kili has his Junior Business Partner Face on, as instead of his Pain In the Arse/Ahahaha Make Uncle Feel Awkward Face, and also takes a moment to lament he’s picked up on Kili’s expression-naming habit as he puts Bella’s bag and coat into the boot. Somehow, he has managed to get some of the muck on his shirt and buttons his jacket over it. He’ll have to change, too. 

Closing the boot, he catches Kili’s eye just as he finishes handing Bella into the cab. Kili gives him a brilliant smile, and offers to hand him into the car as well with an extravagant bow. 

Thorin rolls his eyes, and slaps his nephew on the back and gives back his phone as they pass one another, Kili heading street side to hop in, as Thorin folds himself carefully around Bella, tucking himself in the corner and bracing one hand on the back of the driver’s seat, trying not to encroach too much on her space. There are too many elbows, and looking at her for permission, Thorin stretches his arm behind her, high across the back of the seat as Frank pulls them away from the curb. 

“Same address as before?” Frank asks. “Wouldja run it by me again?”

Kili does, and they all exchange the polite smiles of three grown adults shoved into a very small space and ride in silence for a while. 

“So, Kili,” Bella says, offering a soft smile. “Thorin tells me you’re charged with protecting him from the war zone that is New York traffic. Can you find me similar help?” 

Kili looks at her with the joy of someone actually _invited_ to tattle on family. He strokes his beard, musing playfully. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t do it. It’s unsafe to let Uncle Thorin loose in New York unattended.” He leans in to confide. “Terrible sense of direction. And by ‘terrible’ I mean ‘no.’” 

“Only in New York,” Thorin prompts through his teeth. 

“Only in New York,” Kili parrots, nodding, eyes wide, then lowers his voice again. “And most of the planet.” He ducks his head and whispers loudly. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.” 

Bella nudges Thorin’s leg slightly with her knee, her face still turned toward Kili. It’s too precise a movement to be an accident. “So, you’re your uncle’s…..sherpa, as it were?” 

He is avenged, and Bella is _wonderful_. Even prepared, Thorin barely stifles a snort of laughter. He touches Kili on the shoulder and darts him a fond smile before his nephew can muster up a pout. Sherpa is sometimes exactly what Thorin needs and Kili does, but Kili _also_....

“Kili’s one of my partners, and my electrical and solar power engineer, so I rely on him for many things.” 

Bella’s looks between the two of them. “You said you do construction? Or at least renovation?” 

“Some new construction, but our primary business is to refurbish and rehabilitate buildings to retain their character, be environmentally safe, and as self-sufficient as possible. Some historical, some industrial, some both. We were just looking a Victorian-era tool and die factory that’s going to be turned into multi-use building, flats and shops. A cornerstone for turning this area from industrial to commercial and residential.” 

“Had some blokes out to test the soil all over the plant, and car park, under concrete and stuff, to make sure there weren’t any contaminants,” Kili explains, making it sound like an adventure. “Once had a seller tell our client there were absolutely no problems, and found he’d buried his fuel oil tanks, and they’d been leaking into the ground for who knows how long? Well, long enough to leech into the ground and be detectable twenty feet away.” 

“Was it salvageable?” 

“Our client moved on to another property,” Thorin supplies. “But I did give the seller some information on who best to clean it up.” 

Bella smiles at him, a small, crooked smile of approval, and Thorin’s belly does a slow somersault as he smiles back. 

“So Kili’s electrical and solar, and you’re…” 

“Sustainable architecture and environmental design,” he murmurs, looking into her upturned face. “Durinson & Company, at your service.” 

“Really? I - “ 

Frank hits a pothole, and Thorin sways, looming over her, nearly falling, and far too close. Bella braces him with a hand to his chest, her eyes wide.

“Sorry.” He clenches the hand stretched across the back seat into a fist after pushing himself back into his corner, again wanting to touch her, keep her steady, keep them both steady as the cab careens through the streets. 

He darts a glare at the cabbie through the rearview mirror. Frank’s smirk falls and he makes a frantic circling motion around his face and mouths, “No.” 

“I think he’s worried your Serial Killer Face might scare me off,” Bella says calmly. There is a sudden and very complete silence in the cab as all three men carefully do not look at each other or at her. 

“You’re really not a very good whisperer, Mr. Cavatelli,” she continues, flicking some muck off her skirt. “Or should I call you Cupid?” 

“Oh, Jesus wept, lady,” Frank mourns. “There goes my tip.” 

Kili cackles, his squawk bouncing too loud around the cab. Thorin just… gives up for the moment, covers his eyes with his free hand and drops his head back, groaning with embarrassment. 

“Look, lady,” Frank says, starting a filibuster Thoin did not see coming, but the man is clearly trying to fix the situation. “I gotta tell you, for a scary-faced guy, the uncle’s okay. The minute dat crap sloshed all over youse, he was out of the car like some superhero, he moved so fast, lookin’ to help.”

“An’ he wanted to make sure I’d stick around to help ya, so, we uh, had that little chat you heard part of, yeah? He actually said, ‘Please stay and help dis nice lady.’ Whad can a guy say to somethin’ like that and not feel like dirt, yanno? 

“Also? Clearly he loves this knucklehead, his nephew, and vice versa. I mean the kid gives him some lip, right? But it’s all affectionate-like, between ‘em. Young pup nippin’ at the big dog. Teasin’ him about gettin’ lost and teasin’ him about flirtin’ with you, all astonished and happy ‘cause apparently, Nephew ain’t never seen Uncle be all relaxed and funny with strangers, what was it he said…. _not-family_...before. Maybe he’s just kinda shy and business-like and has this regrettable whatta the kids call it? My Katie would know. Yeah. ‘Resting bitchface.’ He’s got a real regrettable resting bitch face and a one hell of a ‘fuck off’ face, too, nearly did me in, but he’s got a real nice smile, lady. I seen him smile at youse. A regular orthodementic wet dream, yeah.” 

“An’ he smiles for you and makes ya laugh, so that’s somethin’ huh? Laughin is good. Life ain’t worth it widout it, fuc-, scuse me, freaking _necessary_ when you are matched up with somebody.” 

“Laugher and...respect, yeah. He got’s respect for you, all over. He wouldn even let da knucklehead bow out and get another cab, because Uncle, what’s his name, Durinson, wanted to make sure you didn’t feel like he was comin’ over like a creeper or somthin’, gettin’ you alone. So….” he trails off uncertainly. “You might go easy on him, okay? Pretty sure he’s what he’s tellin’ ya and...like I said, regrettable bitchface, so. Really. You could do worse. A lot worse. Anyways,” he says, pulling in front of the office. “Here we are. Durinson & Company. Look, got his own building and everything.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Cavatelli,” Bella says in a sober, wavering voice that breaks halfway through. 

“My pleasure,” he beams. 

Through the whole long long, long speech, Kili had one hand over his mouth, making small, painful-sounding noises, the other over his convulsing stomach. Bella, seemingly completely and perfectly calm, pressed her knee into Thorin’s leg, hard, at “orthodementic wet dream” and Thorin could feel a deep tremor in her muscles, and hear her tiny, whining puffs of breath, laughter firmly repressed. 

He had been alternately dying of mortification and thanking every deity he could think of that when he really laughs, it’s mostly silently until he can catch a deep breath. He sat there, shaking, hand over his face, eyes streaming, and trying to breathe through his nose, nearly cutting off his own air at times, trying not to just give over and howl because he had this perverse desire to _find out what exactly Frank Cavatelli would say next._

Kili leaps out of the car as soon as they stop, and bangs on the boot to collect their things. Thorin can hear him whooping with laughter. Bella brings out her wallet out of her handbag, and Thorin puts a hand on her wrist, makes a desperate clenched-jawed noise of negation. Bella replies with a small growl, puts her wallet back, and with as much with as much dignity at they both can muster, she allows him to help her out of the cab. 

“Don’t look at me, don’t, don’t,” she hisses, laughter bubbling under her tone. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grits out, teeth clenched, as he fishes out his wallet. He has to wipe some moisture away from his eyes and sniffs slightly, and hears the edge of hysterical laughter in his breath as he hands Frank far, far too much money because he just can’t be expected to actually calculate percentages at a moment like this, he just can’t.

“Aw, hey, don’t get misty, Mr. D,” Frank says kindly. “I just spoke from the heart, ya know?” 

Thorin manages a strangled noise and nod. 

“All righty then,” the cabbie says, beaming at them all like a smelly, benevolent god. “You kids be good. And hey,” he shoots Thorin a wink and a finger gun. “Invite me to da wedding!” And roars off in a belch of exhaust. 

“Oh my god,” Kili wheezes, bending over. “I think I ruptured….” He bobs up. “Oh, Miss Boggins. You. _Brilliant_.” 

“Boggins?” she squeaks, and claps her hand over her mouth, she wavers on her feet, and Thorin puts a steadying hand on her elbow. 

He sees a potential farce - well, another potential farce - in the making. “No, no, it can get slippery here on these cold, wet days, inside, inside,” he whispers, and hustles them through the door and into the lift. They each take a wall, panting heavily, like they’ve run a marathon. 

“Orthodementic,” Bella breathes, as the lift closes, and lets out a very unladylike snort. 

Kili slides to the floor, his hands over his abused stomach, giggling. Thorin starts shaking again, laughing so hard there is no sound, slapping at the walls of their industrial lift, trying to get in enough air, but at another loud snort from Bella, he lists to the side and erupts into nearly painful howls. 

“I can’t tell you,” he says when he can breathe and speak. “Miss Baggins. Bella. How very sorry….” 

“Resting bitchface,” she whispers, gleaming with mischief, her hair coming down around her face. She snickers, making noises that sound like the snuffling of something very small and adorable that he wants to cuddle. Or that could just be Bella. Not getting enough oxygen to his brain, he thinks, as he keens with laughter.

“Regrettable Bitchface,” Kili adds, hiccuping. 

“Do we have to be grown up and dignified when this lift stops?” she asks, face still bright with laughter, one hand over her stomach, the other hanging onto the bar at the back of the lift. 

“God, no,” Thorin shakes his head very vigorously. “‘s my bloody office.” He takes a deep breath. “My face hurts.” 

Kili, from the floor, simply points at him. “Years, years of The Resting….”

“Shut it, knucklehead,” Thorin says affectionately. 

“My floor first, Mistah D,” Kili grins back. 

“Right.” 

“My face hurts too,” Bella confides, massaging her cheeks. She shakes her head. “I’m supposed to be having an absolutely horrible day,” she says, wondering. “I don’t know what happened.” 

Kili hauls himself off the floor, and gathers up his gear as the lift slides to a stop. He leans Thorin’s bag next to the door. 

“I feel,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height, and speaking in a very serious voice. “I feel, Miss Boggins, dear Uncle, that we have bonded in a time of great….travail and transformation. And I believe I know what happened to your rotten day, dear lady.” 

He darts in to give Bella a kiss on her cleaner cheek and whispers, “You’re brilliant.” She rolls her eyes at him, beaming, and he grins as he backs out of the lift. Thorin shakes his head fondly at Kili’s familiar cheek, and punches the button for the door to close. Kili gets his gear down in time to strike an orator’s pose. 

“It was the The Death of The Regrettable Resting Bitchface,” he says dramatically. And as the doors slide shut, he winks and gives them double finger guns. 

They’re quiet a moment, leaning against their respective walls and grinning at each other. Thorin ducks his head, (she’s so beautiful) and looks up at her. “You all right?” 

Bella takes a moment to think about it. “Yeah, surprisingly. Yeah.” She brushes a muddy lock off her cheek. “Missed my last job interview, kicked out of Lobelia's when I figured out she was embezzling from her parents and that she tried to nick my grandmother's silver locket out of my bag, granted, I alerted the family and ‘ratted her out.’ I was half-drowned by a bus, and have been laughing my arse off with a couple of strange men.” She eyes him, a dimple in her cheek from her small smile. “Very strange. One of them brilliant in a pinch.” 

“I haven’t pinched anyone,” Thorin says with wounded dignity. And as the lift door opens, Bella is giggling, holding her stomach and weakly begging him to top. He grins at her and she points at his smile and whispers, wide eyed, “Orthodementic. Wet. Dream.” 

Thorin leans against the lift wall, covers his eyes, and only has the strength to chuckle tiredly. “Kili will never, ever let that go. Oh god." And when he looks up to push the button to hold the lift door, of course his best friend is standing there.

Dwalin looms, a mug of tea in one hand, his crutch in the other. He casually tucks the crutch under his arm and leans into it, and off his cast, face quite clearly communicating that there’s nothing to see here, totally obeying doctor's orders. He takes in the situation; their laughter, Thorin’s relaxed smile, Bella’s half-draggled, half-elegant self, the muddy coat, the suitcase. 

“Right.” he says, frowning. “No idea where to start. Nitrous oxide on the site? Where’s the boy? And don’t think I won’t be gettin’ that story about _dreams_ straight from you.” He gives Thorin a look. “He didn’t….” 

Bella chokes slightly. “Good Lord, you suspicious bastard, Kili’s downstairs, alive and well.” Thorin says, scooping up Bella’s coat and her case in one hand, and presenting her to Dwalin with the other. 

“Belladonna Baggins, late of Cambridge, victim of a tragic bus and puddle accident, please let me introduce you to my cousin and secretary, Dwalin Fundinson, never late to anything.”

“Not your bloody secretary, _cousin_ , 'M a fully-accredited...” 

Thorin thumps him on the shoulder, and grins, all teeth, before going back for his own bag. “You are until that leg heals up and you can go back on sites, and you find an administrator you don't make cry. 

Darting him a truly poisonous look, Dwalin rearranges his face into a pleasant(ish) smile for Bella and hands Thorin his mug so he can shake her hand. 

“Dwalin, at your service, Miss. Y’look hungry. Did he have enough sense to offer you the shower?” At Bella’s nod, he harrumphs at Thorin, limps over to a plastic bin, comes back to them and wiggles it at Thorin until he puts the coat in it. 

“Dry clean?” he asks Bella. 

“Um, well, not really. It says recommended, but goodness, if a raincoat can’t stand getting wet…” Dwalin nods sagely and holds up a hand to interrupt her. 

"Friend o'mine can fix this up good as new, no nasty chemicals, an hour, two tops,” he explains to Bella. “Pop the shoes in there, too, pull the bin bag over the coat and, then tuck ‘em, yes, that’s it. He might could do something," he says gruffly. “Why aren’t you being a good host?” he barks at Thorin.

“Because I haven’t had the chance,” Thorin replies smoothly, and gives back the mug so he can offer Bella a hand to balance with as she steps out of her shoes. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Bella says, smiling up at Dwalin. "And thank you very much. I am not expecting any miracles with my things, but thank you. Very kind of you to even offer." 

Dwalin nods as if they’ve made some agreement. “Get you some scones, clotted cream." He narrows his eyes, considering her. "Raspberry jam," and shoots a glare at Thorin. “You make her tea. Also, you got the muck from this coat all over you.” 

He taps the bin with his crutch and scowls until Thorin removes his jacket, tie and shirt, leaving him in his vest and trousers. They argue via glares about the trousers, and Thorin wins when Dwalin sneers. 

"You'll eat the same as her and like it," he growls. 

"I will," Thorin agrees mildly, and steers her toward his office, his hand hovering over the small of her back. “Let me show you to where you can get a shower and change.” 

"And take her coat, you pasty-arsed clot!" 

Bella snorts, holding back a giggle.

"Stay off your leg or I'll tell Ori," Thorin says over his shoulder, grabbing the handle for her suitcase and his bag. 

Dwalin makes a grinding noise. "Say that to me without the lady present." 

"Not necessary," Bella says, turns smoothly on her heel, pads over to him and puts a hand on his beefy forearm. "I’m sure I’d agree with Thorin and...Ori? That you should take care of yourself as well as you take care of others.” She pauses, cocks her head to the side and gives him a dimpled smile over completely no-nonsense eyes. “Y'great lump.” She pops the ‘p’ and Thorin grins at the floor, trying not to laugh at the look on Dwalin’s face. 

"Yes, well," he mumbles, blushing mightily. "Might could find some chocolate torte. No fresh raspberries, though." 

"Mr. Fundinson," she chides, soft but firm. "I've heard that a rolling office chair and a crutch can make a fine mode of alternate transportation. Or a battering ram. Or javelin." 

Dwalin regards her with a completely different kind of respect. "Dwalin," he offers. 

"Bella." 

He ducks his head and says fondly, "Go on with you then, get cleaned up. Best not leave him alone too long. Gets lost. Even in the building." 

“I do not!” 

They both ignore him. 

"Thank you for the warning," Bella says gravely. 

He huffs a small laugh as she returns to Thorin, where she uses the same (disturblingly effective) dimpled smile and level look until he relinquishes her suitcase, and continues blithely into his office. 

Over her head, Dwalin sends him the hand sign for "hire?" an approving, hopeful look on his face. Thorin simply puts his hand over his heart and shakes his head slightly. Dwalin rolls his eyes and signs, "You," "hurt," "axe," before pointing a thick finger at him in the shortest, most emphatic shovel talk Thorin has ever received. Thorin nods, agreeing, and giving what feels like a very crooked smile to his best friend, turns all his focus back to his guest. 

As he crosses the threshold to his office, she turns and asks, voice low. "How does he know my favorite tea and cake?" 

"He just does. Dwalin's kind of a......"

"Pastry whisperer?" 

"Yes, but don't ever actually _call_ him -..." 

"Good lord, no." Bella shudders. “No.” 

“He took quite a shine to you, actually,” Thorin continues, stopping to offer help with her coat. “He doesn’t do a second sweet offer for just anyone.” 

“Is that so,” she replies, smiling, as he hangs the coat up “And how are you punished by eating the same as. he serves me?” 

“I like savory scones and a bit of cheese in the afternoon. We’re all going to gain a stone or two before the winter’s out and his ankle heals up.” He shrugs. “Can’t really find it in me to complain. I think you’ll enjoy it.” He turns to smile at her. “Now. Shower, right through here.” 

They reach for the handle of her suitcase at the same time, and Thorin - by virtue of his longer reach - gets there first. Bella raises her eyebrows. 

“You do have lovely manners, Thorin,” she points out. “But you needn’t."

“I know,” he replies lightly “But I’d be honored if you allowed it.” 

Bella tilts her chin up and really looks at him, petite and regal and clever, as if she’s sussed out that Thorin has a massive crush on her already, and letting him indulge his courtly side means something to him. She watches him and finally lets out a long teasing sigh softened by a gentle, radiant smile. Thorin's heart skips a beat. 

“Well, if it’s _honor_ at stake.” She waves a hand at her case, not breaking eye contact. “It has weighed on me pretty heavily today.” 

“And so, I am delighted to help,” he replies, not flirting at all, and setting the case in motion with care. “I’ve got a cabinet I can put it on, let you sort through what you need.” He tilts his head toward his little dressing room. 

“Oh good. I admit when I packed, while Lobelia was shrieking about betrayal of all things, while still trying to get her hand on my jewelry box, I just started chucking things in.” Her voice trails off. “This is a _small_ dressing room?” 

“Well, started as file room and then the lads suggested I just give in to the inevitable and put in the bath and dressing rooms, too. And we had the room, so... I do have some flat file drawers in here for….well, dream projects and old sketches and things.” He hauls her case on top of a small, broad cabinet, sturdy enough to keep her case balanced and not dump her things on the floor. 

He turns, and Bella is still standing in the doorway, her toes curled in the carpet. She nods at the clothes. “Either you do work a lot and practically live here, or your dry cleaning never makes it home.” 

“Little of both?” She shakes her head at him and smiles. 

“Right,” Thorin says, blushing, and motions to the other door in the room. “Bath’s through here, um, let me just make sure the towels….” 

“I’m sure it’s fine.” She trails after him. 

Thorin is relieved that there are clean towels, and gestures to the rest of the room. “You’re welcome to anything you need.”

“This is fantastic, thank you. Listen, you need to change too, after Dwalin made you give him half your clothes.” Thorin snorts, and Bills drifts closer to put her hand on his arm. 

“You go ahead and get changed in here while I dig through my bag.”

“No, I should give you some privacy, I promised. I’ll just grab a few things and…” She gives him a look.

“It’s all right.” 

“If you’re sure.” He risks a teasing smile. “I can fetch Dwalin to chaperone.” 

“Dwalin doesn’t allow anybody to fetch him, is my guess.” She pats his arm. “Stop fussing.” She turns and heads for her suitcase. 

“All right,” he says, following her. “But you should know he’s already told me if I’m not on my best behavior….” She turns at his pause and he makes the traditional motion of having one’s throat cut. 

“He didn’t!” 

Thorin nods as he sorts through his shirts. “We developed hand signs for noisy environments, and he advised me if I wasn’t nice, he’d hit me with an axe.” 

Bella gives a horrified giggle. “Lunatics, I’ve walked into a nest of really sweet lunatics.” 

He throws a smile over his shoulder as he digs up a fresh vest and socks. “Luckily, you’ve already met the craziest. I’ll tap on the connecting door when I’m done, then go look over some work. Dwalin will probably bring the tea things to the table by the couch. Call if you need anything.” He stops and frowns as he stands. “Call really loudly. I was just going to go to the conference room - “ 

“Oh, just stay in your office, y’bloody Galahad,” Bella says, rolling her eyes. “We have bonded through much travail. I’m. Fine. This. Is Amazing. Your mother would be proud of your manners. Go change.” 

Thorin arches a brow at her. “Fine!” 

“Fine!” She waves him off. 

Thorin does a spot-wash, checks his hair, and throws on the basic elements of his outfit, tosses his dirty clothes in the hamper, and taking his shoes with him, he taps on the door, and smiles at the hollered thanks he gets in reply. 

In his office, Thorin stands by his favorite spot in the whole building, the great bank of windows at the far end, and does up his shirt and waistcoat buttons, finishes dressing, rolls up the cuffs of his shirt, and after a moment of thinking about it, decides to ditch the tie. 

He’s really done working for the day, if he’s completely honest with himself. He tries to go back to the ideas he was having for the factory renovation, but the well-ordered, clean lines in his imagination turn into the waves of her hair in the wind, the graceful way she took his hand as she stepped out of her shoes, her amusement at the too-long sleeves of his coat. 

She’s with him, no matter where he turns. In his mind’s eye, the red, vibrant swirl of her walks confidently, impatiently, her arm raised, as he ties his shoes, the blue ones, another proof that he is _done_ with serious work for the day. Her laughter, head thrown back, follows him to the door that hides a tiny kitchenette, and the way she looked at him, that one amazing moment of connection before the bus came, sticks with him as he waits for the kettle to boil. 

If not for the bus, he would have smiled at her just a bit, dared a bit more open admiration, and closed the door of the cab. He would have done that, and savored the memory of her, beauty, color, movement, the vibrant _life_ of her, and likely, that memory would have faded as he dove into his next project. 

If he’d been able to _think_ clearly, mind swirling with plans for the factory and then _Bella_ , he would have offered her the cab straightway, because…..and now he’s indulging in hindsight.

But somehow, she is here, and warm and funny, and she _handled_ Dwalin better than he’s seen anyone ever do it but Ori. He should hire her, just for that, because if she can settle Dwalin, ready to gear up into a strop, she could manage anyone. Thorin shakes his head, takes his tea, finds his laptop case and looks through his emails. He answers what he can, quickly, and puts the rest off. 

He rocks in his chair a moment, then strolls over to his draft board, takes out a pencil and roughs out the straight lines of the street and the shops where he stood, waiting for Kili to finish, trying, somehow, to figure out why a woman in a red coat just made everything in him stop just to look and really _see_ , and want things he'd let fall by the wayside for work - drawing for fun or the rewarding torture of oils - just to keep that moment with him. Any other day, he’d have already been tinkering with the plans for the factory - actually had been, until he had to find Kili and the cab - but Bella. Something about her, maybe the coat, maybe her hard to pin down hair color, the way her heels clicked, sharp and decisive, maybe….

He stops drawing, once he’s roughed out the street, because drawing her figure while she’s in the other room, showering, feels rude and a little creepy. But he can look at the sketch and see how she’s going to fit in it, a dynamic, diagonal slash of movement and color in the foreground. 

Dwalin stumps in, bearing a large tray of baked goods and fixings one-handed, and sets them on the table near the sofa. Thorin drifts over, and opens his mouth to speak, and a hairdryer roars to life in the bathroom. By unspoken agreement, they move, not wanting to hover anywhere near the bathroom door, and make their way to the kitchenette, where Dwalin pulls down some mugs and Thorin refills the kettle. 

“Cream in a little thing,” Dwalin breaks the silence. “And some lemon. On the tray.” 

Thorin snorts, smiling, as he fiddles with the kettle cord. Dwalin really _has_ taken a shine to Bella. 

“Sure you won’t hire her?” 

Thorin leans, back against the cabinet, and crosses his arms. “I don’t even know what she _does_ , besides successfully spotting an embezzling cousin.” 

Dwalin raises his eyebrows and looks at Thorin with dawning glee. “You brought her here and know next to nothing about her. _Thorin._ ” 

“Well. I.” Thorin sighs, darts a look toward the bathroom, and lowers his voice, glaring. "I like her. Happy?" 

Dwalin gives Thorin a really terrifying grin and claps him on the back hard enough to make Thorin cough. He shakes his head, still grinning, and as he turns to close the door with his free hand, he catches Thorin’s eye and roars with laughter. 

Shaking his head - he’s never going to hear the end of any of this - Thorin drifts back over to the windows, looks out at the city and waits. 

~~~

“It’s a really beautiful office,” she says behind him, warmly, and Thorin manages not to startle from long practice with the nephews. He turns and raises an eyebrow at her. 

“Sorry, my parents used to call me their little burglar.” 

“I’ll have to remember that. And thanks, I’m pleased with how the room turned out.” He’s unable to stay by the windows, so far away. 

“Though I have to point out, it’s really more of a high-end bedsit with office attached. She smiles up at him from the two shallow steps leading from the lounge area to his work space.

“I’m not that bad, I do go home most nights. Want to come see the view?” 

“Hmmm,” she says dubiously. “And yes I do.” 

He extends a hand to help her up the stairs, which she takes with a bit of a fond eye roll. She is in heels, so it’s only logical, and as she walks into the brighter light of the work area, he notices her eyes have changed to reflect the teal in her dress, the dress he’s trying not to stare too hard at. One of those wrap things that clings lovingly to every curve, and hers would make a goddess weep. A modern earth goddess, lush and warm in greens and browns and tiny hints of red, a shade that echoes her coat. Her hair waves smoothly over one shoulder, tawny and as indescribable as ever, since the green in her dress only makes it seem more red. 

“Were you planning on doing something with that hand?” she asks, blushing, and Thorin realizes he’s helped her up the stairs and then remained still, staring at her. 

“Sorry, um.” Frowning, he looks at her small hand in his and brushes a thumb across her knuckles. It’s a well kept hand, softness covering strength. “I hadn’t really. You were walking and I was noticing your eyes change, and had gone blue green with your dress. Suits you. And now...I have this.” He regards it again. “I’m sure there’s a reason I’ve held on.” 

“Is there?” 

He draws her toward the windows. “I feel sure there is…..” 

“Oh my goodness, what a view,” Bella says. 

“It’s why I bought the building.” 

“I can understand why,” They’re quiet for a moment, side by side. Peaceful. 

“You still have my hand,” she murmurs, and gives his a squeeze. 

“I think I remember, now,” he replies, turning toward her. He bows slightly, and lifts her hand for a kiss. “Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight?” 

“Oh, I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly,” Bella replies, impish, eyes flashing. “Because I am going to ask you to dinner tonight, once I get things sorted. To thank you for all this.” 

“You needn’t.” 

“Ah, but I’d be honored if you would allow it,” she says seriously, echoing his words back to him. 

Thorin inclines his head, out-played. “Well, if it’s _honor_ at stake….” 

She laughs, “We are so ridiculous.” 

“I rather like it,” Thorin replies and bends over her hand again. “I am delighted to accept.” He smiles down at her a moment, then recovers his wits enough to say. “Dwalin brought us some things for tea. I think we should go look before wandering nephews catch the scent.” 

“Oooh, yes. Also; nephews? More than just Kili?” 

“His older brother Fili,” Thorin tells her as they make their way down the stairs. “He’s an architect as well, specializing in preservation restoration.” 

“I thought you all….” 

“Yes, but he really enjoys restoring buildings to their former glory with period appropriate materials if possible. He's the one that knows where all the people who squirrel away architectural antiques are. And when I say all, I mean _all _.”__

“That sounds really fun, actually.” She spots the tea table. “Oh my goodness, did he think your coat was mine and I needed to fatten back up to fit in it?” 

“I think he goes by his own appetite. If he brings me a tray, I just keep nibbling on it while I work.” 

“Late into the night…” she teases. 

“Maybe,” Thorin drawls. “Tea?” 

“Of course.” 

They realize they’re still holding hands at the same moment, as Thorin turns toward the kitchenette. Thorin feels his ears heat up, his most furious blush. Bella blushes as well, squeezes his hand and says, “Lead on,” and they turn toward the kitchen. 

Their hands fall apart naturally as he turns the kettle on, as Bella selects their tea and gets his silent approval of her selection. She finds the teapot as he turns on the hot water faucet to warm it, and they move easily through the little chores and rituals of tea making, and then settle comfortably on the sofa to collect their spoils from Dwalin’s tray while it steeps. 

“Oh,” Bella makes a surprised little moan as she snuggles into the sofa. “If this is the sofa you use for all nighters, how do you ever get up again?” She spreads a hand over the deep blue leather, then shakes herself. “I better get my plate fixed before your sofa makes me nap.” 

“Funny you should mention that,” Thorin says, handing her a plate, and helping the both of them to a still-warm scone. “I’d initially thought of using this sitting area as an informal conference room, but after a few planning sessions where people, and by people I mean nephews, started nodding off involuntarily, well, we mostly sit around and have tea here, most days, when we can." 

“Well, it is also darker over here than over by your lovely windows, darker colors, dimmer lighting and you _do_ have this deep, calming voice. And then there are the comfy chairs. It’s not all the furniture’s fault.” 

“Are you saying I put my people to sleep?” 

“I’m assigning equal portions of blame,” she says loftily. “Regardless of meeting subject matter, this is a cozy spot, and I would guess you read your nephews a bedtime story or two, and there’s Uncle, reading site resources aloud and ingrained habit takes over.” 

Thorin huffs out a laugh. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He doctors a scone to his liking as Bella checks the tea and pours them each a mug. “Are you an interior designer?” 

“I do a bit, but mostly for fun, it’s not really my main interest. How do you take your tea?” 

“One lump, please. And a bit of lemon since it’s there.” 

She fixes her own mug to her liking and settles back into her corner of the couch, shoes off, legs curled under her. She gazes at him over the rim of her cup. “I’m a landscape architect and designer specializing in garden design and reconstruction, and, as you guessed, do a bit of interior decorating on the side. Mostly for friends.” 

Thorin very nearly snorts hot tea up his nose, but to his great relief, it comes off as merely a small cough. He narrows his eyes at her. “That’s what you were about to tell me when the cabbie nearly dumped me in your lap. That you’re practically in the same field.” 

“Mmmhmm,” she says sipping her tea. “And think, without that pothole, what a speech we would have missed.” 

“Oh, god,” Thorin hangs his head again. “I can’t remember the last time I was so mortified and entertained at the same time. And the lads will never, ever let me live it down.” 

“At its heart, it really was rather sweet, and very complimentary of you.” 

“I’m just glad you’re still talking to me.” 

“Oh hush,” she flaps a hand at him. “Why wouldn’t I? I already knew those things about you anyway. I wouldn’t quite have _put_ them that way…..” 

Thorin screws his eyes tight. “Oh lord, I can’t stop _hearing_ him braying on and on.” 

Bella chuckles softly. “Let’s talk about something else then.” 

“Wait. Knew what things?” 

She darts him a fond, shy glance and takes a slow sip of her tea. She keeps her eyes on the plate in front of her, but Thorin sees the edge of her smile and her voice is gentle, “That you are funny, a bit bashful, kind, respectful, definitely not a creep and…..you like me.” 

“Yes.” As soon as he speaks, she looks up and smiles at him with that radiant smile again, and he’s sure own his face his hiding nothing. “The moment I saw you.” 

Bella takes a long, deep breath, lets it out in a long sigh, and her smile glows even brighter. “Me, too.” 

Honest, direct, and willingly vulnerable, and she invites Thorin to do the same. It takes, _she_ takes his breath away. The moment stretches between them, slow and sweet and achingly intimate, just on the edge of discomfort, because it's not easy, to look this long and do nothing, say nothing, but something within him tells him to pay attention, so he neither shies away or deflects, and neither does she. They sit, simply holding one another’s gaze. 

Once he relaxes, Thorin finds it becomes a form of conversation. Trust, intent, offered and returned; a promise between them. He sees the shadows of her stressful day appear, along with a some uncertainly, knows his nerves and intensity are showing, the worry that he’ll scare her off…. He watches her push it aside her doubts and come back to him, come back to this moment, wonder and acceptance, joy and confidence in her gaze. Then mischief, anticipation and want. 

The desire to go to her flares and grows, and then settles down to an ember. It’s too soon, and after this, it will be a bit of pleasant torture to wait. She should be known and savored. Bella’s smile widens to a delighted, wicked grin, and she throws her head back and laughs. 

“Oh, Thorin,” she says, color high and gorgeous, a familiar thread of laughter in her voice. “I am having the best, most extraordinary horrible day.” 

Thorin frowns for a moment. “I’m trying figure out how to say ‘I’m glad,” without sounding completely selfish or dismissing you missing your interview -” 

“Which ended up being a dud,” she points out. 

“Which ended up being a dud,” he agrees. “Nor do I want to dismiss Lobelia, you not having a place to stay, and the bus that, for lack of a better term, slimed you.” 

“I’m oddly glad it did.” 

“Yes. That. Though parts of your day were dreadful, parts….”

“ _Parts_ ,” she agrees, smiling shyly, plays with the edge of her mug, then laughs and offers a toast, “To busses.” 

Thorin gives a small snort of laughter. “To busses.” 

He clinks his mug against hers, and she makes a face after she takes a sip. “Eguh. Mine’s too cold. And I should get moving on a few things,” she glances at her watch. “Check in time at most hotels, so I can pop over, check in, and then we’ll do something about dinner.” 

Thorin clears his throat quietly. “I had a thought about that.” Bella cocks an eyebrow at him. 

“My sister. We own an apartment building, which she manages. She’s got a flat she rents on short term leases sometimes. She mostly uses it as a well-appointed guest room for the boys, back when they were in school, or whatever family was coming through. A lot of family and friends have emigrated over the years, odd, like it’s catching. One brother moves, and a year later, the whole family arrives.” 

“It’s fully furnished, nothing special but comfortable, and I know she replaced the mattress in the larger room two weeks ago, because I had to lug out the old one. The heating works beautifully because I renovated it. The water pressure is both environmentally friendly and divine and the kitchen…” 

Bella puts her hands up in surrender “I’m sold, I’m sold. How much might this paradise cost me?” 

“Well, let’s find out. I’ll call Dís and you two can discuss it?” 

She nods, and puts a hand to her chest, clearly touched. “I can hardly believe...of all the crazy sweet lunatics in all the world…” 

“You had to run into mine?” 

“Yes, Humphrey Bogart.” She sobers and her expression changes, those shadows crowding her eyes again, and lines of pain deepen around her mouth. She takes a deep breath and looks at him, eyes bright. “Why are you helping me? You need not do _any_ of this.” 

“Well, it _was_ my fault you didn’t notice the bus. For that, I did need to help. And you laughed. Dripping with mud, your day in tatters around your feet, kicked out of your apartment and you could have, should have raged. But you laughed.” 

“I seem to remember it was your joke that _caused_ me to laugh.” 

Thorin shakes his head. “Even so, from that moment on, you handled the situation with clear-headed humor, even when you were upset, even when your interview fell through, even when a cabbie started trying to aggressively matchmake you with a man you’d met not ten minutes before.” 

“Not that I was complaining.” 

“For which I am extremely grateful.” Thorin ducks his head, determined to be as candid as possible, because she’d asked and it felt important. “If all that had happened on just a usual day, I still would have offered my help, but.” He scratches the back of his neck, a little frustrated with himself, groping for the right words even those he _knows_ the reason. 

“I would have remembered you, even if you’d never turned around. You walked by me, this swirl of red and life and, just so vivid. So vivid I wanted to draw something other than a building for the first time in I don’t know when, just to keep that moment with me. Even more vivid and beautiful when you looked at me without that mask of indifferent, nearly hostile reserve New Yorkers cultivate. Back home we’re reserved because we’re afraid we’ll make asses of ourselves. Here, it’s a defense mechanism so no one will get in your way, or, god forbid, talk to you.” 

He can hear her snort with amusement, looks up at her, and catches her smile. 

“In those few seconds, I got the gift of seeing this beautiful woman without that sort of mask. A clear, direct gaze, and just….breathtaking. I would have remembered that, too, if I’d driven away. But there was a bus, and I didn’t have to, and found you were even lovelier than I’d imagined as I started to get to know you.” 

Bella reaches out for his hand and he gives it to her. She settles it between them across the back of the sofa. Her eyes are bright and her voice is a little hoarse with emotion. “I think that’s the most wonderful compliment I’ve ever received, Thorin. I’m accepting your help for much the same reason. You were the right face, the right man to say yes to, so funny and kind. You seem to have this core of strength about you, but you’re also this dear goof, willing to laugh at yourself, and have these courtly manners that just….she waves her hand, and pauses, laughing, her breath hitching slightly. “I don’t accept handkerchiefs from just _anybody._

He shakes his head, grinning, his own breath a bit unsteady, and squeezes her hand. “If we have any more intense moments in the next hour or so, my head’s going to explode.” 

“Can’t take a compliment, hmm?” Before he can reply, Bella claps her free hand over her mouth. “Oh my gracious, I’ve been making you talk about your feelings _forever._ ” 

“I don’t know about _made_ me….” 

“No,” she says overly earnestly, nodding. “You did very well, my dear. Very well.” 

“Oooh, you shut it,” he snarks, as he pulls out his phone. “Sorry, need my other hand for this.” As she starts to pull away, he tugs on her hand to drop quick kiss to the back, then, on impulse, kisses her palm. He means for it to be as quick and light as the other kiss, but the warmth of her skin distracts him and he lingers for just a second or two longer. 

He hears Bella’s soft gasp and looks at her from beneath his brow to see if he caused offence, his thumb stroking the hollow of her hand to soothe. Her eyes are dark, and she is flushed, her hand on her chest as if she could use it to slow her quickened breathing. 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers, and nuzzles back into her palm. He kisses her skin again, lingering longer this time, and then another, more ardent kiss, trying to communicate his joy in meeting her, then a lighter third, as he draws away. Her hand is trembling, and she's quivering slightly, looking at him in wonder. She folds the hand he kissed over heart and her smile is small, intimate, breathtaking. 

“I’ll make that call.” Thorin says quietly. 

Bella stirs, breaking the hush around them. “More tea?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“I’ll make a fresh pot.” As she gathers up the pot and passes him, she brushes a fond hand across his shoulder. 

He gathers his wits about him for a conversation with his sister, deliberately turning his head from watching Bella putter about his kitchenette. 

“What are you doing calling me?” Dís greets him. “Is she gone? Did you invite her to dinner? And if not, why? She sounds lovely.” 

Thorin pinches his nose. “Kili,” he growls. “No, she’s still here, and I was thinking - “ 

“Of course Kili. You want the guest flat?” 

His head is swimming slightly, but that’s often the case with Dís, who will finish your sentence for you if you’re not speaking fast enough, all while fussing over you and making you’re fed and warm and are having interaction with the outside world. (Fili had latched on to ebay early in his zeal to find period materials and they had to get him up and air him a few times a day to keep everyone sane and the flat from smelling like chips and old socks.) 

“Yes, at least for a night or two, until she can -” 

“Nonsense, if she’s as brilliant as Kili and Dwalin say, and willing to put up with _you_ she can have it as long as she needs, as a guest.” 

“ _Dwalin?_ And that’s lovely, Dís, but I don’t think it’s a good - “ 

“Pride? Well, I can give her a flat rate for the week….and then go from there. You know, let me talk to her.” 

Bella was back and whispering at the same time, “Thorin, may I speak with her?” He handed the phone over silently, and she gave him a small, nervous look. 

“Hullo, Dís? Sorry to be so familiar I don’t know your...well that’s kind of you, do please call me Bella. Thorin told me about the flat, and I would be extremely grateful to take it for a short term lease, if you’d let me know - “ 

“Oh! That’s quite reasonable, much more so than a week at a hotel. Well, yes, you’re right, I should come take a look. Let’s say I’ll provisionally take it for the week and then go from there? I was staying with a cousin who turned absolutely beastly and need a moment to regroup, and a furnished flat sounds beyond fantastic.” 

“Hmm? Oh, landscape design and architecture, and a little interior design, mostly consulting at the moment. No, he had no idea until a few moments ago. Yes. Oh? Well. You know the _whole_...oh my gracious, Thorin did say Kili would never let him live it...Well. Very kind of you to say.” She flushes and laughs. “Your family are darlings,Dís, and I look forward to meeting you, and your oldest at some point. Thank you. See you soon.” She hands the phone back to Thorin and presses both hands to her flushed cheeks, her lips folded tight against mortified laughter. Shaking her head, she goes back to the kitchenette to make tea. 

“What did you say to her?” he hisses into the phone. “She’s blushing like mad.” 

“Nothing you don’t already know,” Dis says airily. “I’m halfway to getting the flat aired and ready, why don’t you come in an hour or so? Does she take milk or cream or what in her tea? Or do you think she might want coffee?” 

“Dis, I, no, you don’t….” 

“Nonsense. Bring some of Dwalin’s scones in case she wants a snack or something, I’ve got some fruit and butter, some eggs and bacon, I think, don’t have time to bake tonight. I think I’ll take her out, though, maybe for lunch. Show her the neighborhood.” 

“No, _I_ am, thank you.” 

“You think so?” his sister says, deeply amused, and rang off, just like that.

Thorin growls at his phone, wanting to strangle it as proxy. Typical high-handed Dís. He frowns, then relents and texts her, _“Cream & sugar. Raspberry jam. English Breakfast.”_

_“Keep it up. Noticing little things impt to women.”_

He wants to strangle the phone again, but still. _“Owe you.”_

_“ <3 & Muahahaha, yes you do.”_

Thorin blows out a long breath, and looks up to find Bella standing in the kitchenette, hovering over the teapot, the line of her back tense, her shoulders so straight and square it looks painful. He rises and goes to her, and stands beside her, his hand hovering over the small of her back. 

“Dis is a bit of a whirlwind,” he apologizes. 

“No, she’s lovely,” Bella says, her voice faint and a little strained. “You’re all so lovely, I’m...” 

He waits, and settles his hand on her upper back to stroke up and down, offering support and comfort. 

“It makes me a little homesick for the brothers and sisters I never had, isn’t that silly? I had oodles of cousins, but none quite so close as your family seems to be,” she says to the teapot.” She sniffs. “It’s not been an hour yet. Your head is going to explode. 

“I got through Dís finishing my every sentence and being slightly omniscient. I can take it.” 

“You’ve all been just so welcoming, when you don’t know a thing about me. It’s just very. Humbling.” 

“It’s a joy to offer, really, Bella, and no hardship at all. I have a very good impression of you, as does literally everyone else. And you’ll tell me about yourself over dinner.” 

She slants him a teasing, red-eyed look. “Oh, I will, will I?” 

“I have my ways,” he says darkly, teasing, still stroking her back for a moment. “Or Dís will get it out of you under the guise of having tea. Bella snorts and drops her head. 

“I believe it,” she says ruefully

He keeps up the gentle strokes, feeling her muscles unwind under his hand. “Still overwhelmed?” 

“This bit, the you bit, is a good overwhelmed. The stressful bits of today are catching up to me, though.” She leans against his side and he slides his arm around her shoulders and rests his cheek against her hair. Thorin closes his eyes and basks in how peaceful and natural it feels. 

“I’ve gone and stewed the tea,” she says softly, after a few long moments. 

“Bugger the tea, this is much nicer,” he murmurs. She hums in agreement, snakes her arm around his waist and gives him a half-hug. Thorin smiles down at her. “Come on, let me show you my favorite place to unwind. 

“Other than the Sofa of Sleep?” she says, taking his offered hand and following. 

“Yes, this is for when I need to clear my mind for a project.” 

There’s little corner of his office, at the far end of the big windows, a sort of a cabinet/window seat, tucked in a corner that can’t quite be seen from any angle but his desk. He set it up with a couple of floor cushions and a throw pillow nicked from the sofa, one of his own favorite paintings on the wall, a bit of home, and then the city stretching out in front of him. 

“Oh, how cozy,” she says in much the same voice she said, “Oh, _Yorkshire_ ” earlier. He made the right choice. 

“It is a bit high for me to hop up on,” she grumps, teasing. “You great giant.” 

“I can find a stool, or give you a boost.” She turns and puts her arms out, trusting, then thinks a moment and kicks out of her shoes. He puts his hands around her waist, very aware of the warmth of her through her dress, and raising his eyebrows to see if she’s ready, helps her as she gives a hop, and settles her on the ledge. She turns to take a pillow and tuck it behind her back, and curls up with a satisfied smile. 

“I see why you like this. I bet you bring a book when you need a break.” 

“I do. Would you like a cup of tea? A blanket? It gets a bit chilly here after a bit.” 

“Yes,” she says, a twinkle in her eye. Tea, blanket and….a cat. Preferably a lap kitty.” 

He raises his eyebrows. 

“This spot is perfect for a gray, rainy day,” she says gesturing at the view, the bright cushions, the tranquil painting. All you need is good book or a kit to cuddle. And I’m too scrambled for a book. Who’s the artist for this, by the way.” 

“Me.” 

She touches the frame gently. “You’re quite good. Where is this?” 

“My family home. I spent a lot of summers swimming in that pond.” He’s not ready to talk more about his life back there, so he bends to open a small cabinet under the ledge and pulls out a soft, light throw.” 

“One of Ori’s,” he says, settling it around her shoulders. It pools into her lap.

“Dwalin’s….partner?” 

“Husband.” 

“He’s talented,” she says as examines the weave. Thorin impulsively runs his hand down the long fall of her hair, and she leans into it, smiling. 

“I’ll make you some tea and give you a bit to yourself. We don’t have to be at Dis’ for another hour. Do know where you want to go for dinner?” 

“Yes, I should get my phone.” 

“Sit tight, I’ll get it. Could you make reservations for, say, 7? So Dis can’t interrogate us too much.” 

Bella rolls her eyes and laughs. “My bag is on top of my suitcase.” 

Thorin puts the kettle back on and fetches her handbag which he brings to her as the tea brews. She’s sleepy-eyed and smiling when he brings the tea to her and he brushes her shoulder before letting her be. She catches his hand and drops a kiss on the back, and he’s unreasonably charmed by it, and likely grinning like an idiot. 

He takes the tea tray back to the break room and packs up a few scones and a little jam-jar of clotted cream for a snack or light breakfast for her, and then, on impulse, goes over to Dwalin’s office, to check on the progress of Bella’s coat and shoes. Dwalin already knows about the move to Dis’ spare flat, _and_ that Billa’s a landscape architect and designer. 

“Kili was ready to storm the office to offer the flat, but I sat on him until he realized it might be more subtle to wait or let you figure it out on your own.” 

“When have any of you ever been subtle?” 

“I have layers,” Dwalin growls defensively. 

“Mmmmhmm. Like a great smelly onion.” 

“Hmph. Still not going to hire her? Googled her. Can't believe you didn't. She's done good work, very good. The hell with an administrator; I need a second.” 

“Rather marry her.” He did not mean to say that. 

Dwalin blinks at him and then his face fills with unholy glee. “ _Revenged_ ” he growls, savoring it, folding his arms smugly behind his head. 

“Yes,” Thorin sighs, hanging his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I suppose you are.” 

“I will be. Not going to refute it, then. You’re that gone on her already.” 

Thorin just looks at him, and Dwalin’s smile grows fond. “Idiot. About time.” 

“Shut it,” Thorin says, scuffing shoe against the carpet. Really, his head is going to explode any minute now. 

Dwalin just snorts at him. “Bring her back when you go. Bella’s coat and shoes should be ready.” 

“Thanks.” They both know Thorin's thanks covers a myriad of things, which Dwalin doesn’t need the full explanation for, and Thorin's head thankfully doesn't explode.

Walking quietly in case she’s dozed off, Thorin approaches the corner nook. She’s awake and sipping her tea, looking out at the city. Her eyes go wide when she sees him. 

He simply stands in front of her, and Bella, still wide-eyed, reaches out for the semi-snoozing tabby, settles her in her lap, and gives her an ear scritch. “Her name’s Mizim,” Thorin tells her. “She’s Ori’s. Gets lonely at home all day, so Dwalin brings her in.” 

Bella stares down at the cat, who has already rolled over to offer her belly to be petted. She looks back at Thorin, still blinking in surprise. 

“I’m just so glad I didn’t ask for a pony.” 

Thorin smiles, brushes Bella’s cheek with a gentle knuckle, and strolls off to wash the dishes and generally straighten up the office. He hears her murmuring sweetly to the cat as he goes. 

~~~

He’s just finishing the dishes when Bella calls, “Should we be going?” 

“Yes, need me to come get the cat?” 

“Well, one of us.” 

Thorin clears the stairs already peering into the her corner. “One of you?” 

Bella’s sitting with Mizim, her legs dangling off the edge. “I didn’t quite think of…” She spreads and scrunches her tights-clad toes, then points them at the hardwood floor. “When I kicked my shoes off. My luck today I’ll crack my head.” 

“Ah. My preference is for your brains to remain as they are. What would you like help with?” 

“Please take Miss Snoozy here, and hand me my shoes? I don’t think Mizim and I are at the point in our relationship where I just drop her on the floor.”

“I understand.” He tucks Bella’s shoes next to her, picks up the cat and sets her on the floor. Mizim gives him a wounded look and goes to curl up on his office chair. 

Bella laughs as she slips on her shoes. “And you know she’s shedding extra hard after that look, too.” 

“Of course. Most pampered thing ever. Nearly always carried about, often used as a paperweight for blueprints and given treats if she stays in place. Never takes the stairs. Pretty sure I saw Fili call the lift for her one day.” He looks over at Bella. “Just her.” 

She snorts and puts out her hands. “Help a girl down?” 

“Gladly. Um, mind if I?” He motions putting her hands around her waist. 

“Please,” she says, putting her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know how you get up here; you must be all leg. So yes, I prefer keeping my brains where they are, too.” 

Once she’s on the ground, she’s of course, quite close, and they stay that way for a moment, letting the air go charged between them. Bella’s smile is both confident, content and sexy, and in no hurry at all. 

“I’ll find you a stool for next time,” he murmurs. 

“Next time. That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?,” her smile says that it pleases her, as her hands slide down his shoulders to rest on his chest lightly. “That I’d be hanging about your office needing the cozy corner?” 

“I was thinking more _proactive_ , and please don’t call it that. Sounds like I’m over here reading stories to children.” 

“And we know, because of the nodding-off nephews, you ought to keep that sort of thing to a minimum in the office.” 

“Exactly,” and because it’s right there, he kisses her forehead, and draws her toward the dressing room and her things. “We already have snack time in there, but if that becomes the cozy corner, next thing you know there are naptimes, and people wanting to be tucked in…” 

“And kissed on the forehead, but you do quite well at that.” 

Thorin stops and turns to her, not quite mortified, but close. “I’ve been randomly kissing your head and hands like...like….” 

“Like it’s a lovely, easy and natural gesture of affection which is completely endearing and perfectly fine.” 

“I should have asked.” 

“Oi y’great lump.” She smacks him on the chest lightly. “Be yourself, and I’ll tell you when you’re out of bounds, alright? We’re both grown ups, and I am not…..”

“A damsel in distress, I know,” he says softly. “But I was presuming.” 

Bella gives him a look. “I consider permission to come closer was given when _I_ took _your_ hand, and definitely after you kissed my palm, which, by the way, was hotter than any first kiss I’ve ever had, and it was just _my hand_. And then that lovely cuddle by the teapot, so for goodness’ sake, Galahad. If you had misbehaved, you would have known right away.” 

Thorin feels himself flush when she mentions kissing her palm, and ducks his head, ears practically throbbing. 

“Oh lord,” she says, drops his hand and reaches for him. “I’ve gone and done it; if not your head, your ears are going to explode.” He tries to dodge her and, grinning, and she playfully pursues him, and somehow it ends up in a hug, with Bella’s hand flattened protectively over one of his ears. She feels _wonderful_. 

“I love your courtly manners and all these little affectionate gestures. My only complaint,” she complains, “Is that you’re so bloody tall, I can’t retaliate, I mean respond in kind. I’ll think of something.” 

He presses a smile against her shoulder. “Expect sneak attacks?” 

“Always.” She steps out of his embrace with a grin. “I’m little but I’m sneaky. Hang on, I forgot my purse.” 

Bella makes her way up into the office area, heels clicking merrily, and Thorin can’t help watching the way she sways when she walks. A poem fragment tickles at his memory and Thorin has a feeling that it’s going to take him a few steps closer to painting her once he looks it up. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asks as she returns.

He brushes her cheek with his knuckles. “Puzzling out how to paint you. I think some byronic poetry may have been involved.” 

“Right,” she murmurs, face flushed, turning into his hand like the cat does, and gives his knuckles a kiss. “Painting. Lord Byron. Now _my_ head’s exploding.” She gives him a smile as she pulls away. “I’m off to change into my boots; it’s really starting to rain.” 

Thorin grimaces and thinks about his trench coat, sitting on a peg at home. “We’ll take a cab then,” he says, putting on his coat and raising his voice so she can hear him in the dressing room. 

“It’s that close?” She appears with boots in her hands, and pads over to a chair to zip them on. “Did this building come before the flats, or vice versa?” 

“Flats first, ages ago. Dis was managing the place already for the previous owner, and when I came over to help with the boys, he asked me to help renovate - mind you this was before a lot of sustainable methods were in wide use in the city, or at the very least, in this area of town - and by the time he was ready to move to Virginia to be near his grandchildren….”

“Your fixer-upper was already fixed?” 

“Almost entirely. And I could see those big windows from the roof,” he points to his office windows. One day, a big ‘For Sale’ sign appeared.” 

“Up on the roof often, were you?” Bella inclines her head for him to follow, and they talk as she tucks her shower things into a bag. 

“We have a garden up there, well, some of the tenants do, and Dis does. Sorry you’re too late in the season to see it.” 

“Hmmm, sounds lovely, though. The solar panels don’t get in the way?” 

“We integrated them into the design. They’re mounted on the top of the garden shed, actually, so they take up no additional roof space.” 

“Very clever.” She puts everything away and zips her bag shut. “Ready.” 

“Perfect. Would you mind gathering Mizim? Dwalin asked that we bring her back when we collect your coat.” 

Bella snorted. “Too lazy to get up on her own?” 

“Well, he might forget she’s here and then Ori will have his hide.” He wrangles Bella’s case to the ground.

“Ah. What does Ori do?” 

“Curator of an architectural archive."

“Oh my,” she replies, Mizim riding half-curled on her shoulder. The amble toward the door. “Never cross one of those.” 

“Especially when he works for The Historic House Trust.” At her questioning look he adds, “Non-profit working with the Parks Department. We’ve done some work for them, and when they met, Dwalin….” Thorin clicks his fingers and Bella’s eyes go wide. 

“Fell for Ori at first sight?” 

Thorin slants her a look. “Mutual, apparently.” 

“Pfft,” Bella scoffs, slanting one brimful of mischief right back. “Never happens in real life.” 

“That’s what I told him,” he murmurs.

Bella laughs into Mizim’s fur. 

~~~


	2. A Short Cab Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to the apartment building. It's not a long ride, but things happen anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I have been absolutely stunned and flustered and overjoyed by the response. So, here's a thank you. 
> 
> My poor computer, Shepard, is limping along, two keys loose and bits are falling off his cracked screen, so I'll only be posting short chapters as I/if I finish more, until I relinquish Shep to the techs tomorrow. (Oct 21st) ::whimpers:: 
> 
> I'm hoping for a loaner. What I really need is a new computer. This mac is four years old, so bloody heavy, and literally falling apart, bless him. He served well. Hopefully he can serve a little longer.

Thorin is incredibly grateful Dwalin suggested they call a cab because it is _pouring_ out, doubly grateful that their building entrance is sheltered. He wrestles Bella’s case into the boot, as she ducks into the cab on her own. He gives her a look when he gets into the cab and she chuckles and pats him on the leg. 

“Oh, Galahad. Courtly manners may be suspended in the face of inclement weather, so that one or both parties might not freeze. Or get wet. Again.” 

He grumps at her, only half-teasing, gives the cabbie his address, and the driver snaps the plastic barrier between them shut. 

“Not a Cavatelli brother, then,” she observes dryly, and Thorin hums, agreeing. 

“Nice not to have an eavesdropper,” he murmurs, reaching for her hand. 

She takes it, leans forward, and uses it to drape his arm over her shoulders. He curls her close and smiles down at her. 

“Hello, Mr Durinson,” she whispers, and strokes his jawline. She leans up to gently kiss his cheek, almost bashfully, and for someone so confident and sexy, her shy affectionate looks and touches render him almost ridiculously charmed, and definitely feeling very male and protective.

“Hello, Miss Baggins, your hand is freezing,” he covers it with his own and turns to press his mouth to her palm, then curls her hand in his to warm it with his breath. She shivers slightly, pressing closer to his side, and makes a small, approving noise. The sound shoots right through him, and his breath catches. 

“You need some gloves,” he says, voice low. He unbuttons his coat and puts her hand inside, against his chest, and presses it there, asking her to stay. He watches her in the passing, flickering lights of the city, the shifting shadows of the rain. She watches him, tender and trusting, and all at once, turns in his arms, sliding both hands into his coat, around his waist, and nestles against him as if they’d done it a hundred times. He curls around her, and presses his face into her hair, breathing her in. Her face is tucked up against his neck and she turns her head slightly, and he jumps.

“Bella your _nose_. How did you get so cold so quickly?"

“Cold hands, warm heart?" she mutters, and while he laughs, she presses her mouth, so much warmer, against his throat, just under his ear, exactly where he’d imagined pressing a kiss to her skin earlier. He instinctively tugs her closer, nearly into his lap, then pulls away slightly to look into her face. 

“I will not kiss you in this cab, Bella,” he tells her softly. 

"No?” 

He leans in to whisper in her ear. "When you throw your head back and laugh, I want to put my mouth on your throat, just there,” he strokes her skin with a finger. “Just where you kissed me." 

Bella's breath hitches, her arms tighten around him, and she moves her head slightly, tilting to give him better access to her ear. Thorin breathes her in again, letting her surround him, summer roses and something else, sweet and spicy and just perfect for her.

"Even more, I want to kiss your lovely mouth, but I won't, not yet. I won’t until I know your favorite color, your favorite wine and your best story from university, the one you'd never tell family. I'll wait to kiss you until I know your favorite thing about your work, or whatever else lights you up inside. What music you like. Which books kept you awake all night until you finished or which ones kept you awake because you were scared? What was the first poem you memorized?" He nuzzles closer, his lips brushing her ear, and she trembles. 

"Bella, Belladonna, I'll wait, I won't, I _can't_ kiss you until I can savor every moment, every touch. And that's not here.” She makes a soft, longing sound, hand clenched in his lapel, her breath warm against his neck. “Or when there’s every likelihood I’d be appearing in front of my sister in an unfortunate condition." 

She leans back, her eyes wide in understanding, and strokes his cheek again, "All very fine reasons, but the last perhaps, the most, ummmmm. Agreed.” 

He brushes his nose against hers and pulls away. “Agreed. And, we’re nearly there.” 

In fact they _are_ there, as the cab pulls over not a moment later and stops. Dominic, their doorman, hurries out with an umbrella.

“Mr. D! Hell of a night!” 

“Indeed, Dom. There’s a case in the boot, could you?” 

“Sure, sure!” He hurries to get it, as Thorin helps Bella out and pays the driver. 

He can feel her eyes on him as he chats with Dominic, and she's perfectly charming as they're introduced, enjoys Dom's showing off of his domain and assures him she'll ask if she needs anything, shows no indication of inattention or distraction, but Thorin can feel the weight of her thoughts are on him, that her body is as attuned to him as his is to hers. And he'd be lying if he said it had no effect on him. 

The way he wants Bella is heady and impossible, terrifying in the best way and as easy as breathing. He also knows willpower is finite. 

She pushes him to one side of the lift when they enter, and takes the opposite wall. He raises his eyebrows. 

"It's not here either, and you beastly, poetic-hearted, darling, _seductive bastard_ , I'm also an arborist."

He blinks at her. 

She flushes, shoves her hands in her pockets and looks at the lift floor. "Come any closer and I will climb you like a tree," she vows, slightly breathless. 

"Right." His voice comes out strangled. 

"Right." She takes a deep breath and looks at the ceiling. "I can't pick just one favorite color, at least for clothes," she says. "I'll have several months where I crave turquoise or teal or royal blue or purple or emerald or red. I won't wear it everyday, but I'm happiest in my current favorite. Rich, clear colors, deeply saturated, mostly. Look terrible in yellow. Orange and I have a tentative understanding, and we stick to coral or rust, and I've never had an orange phase. I'm in a mixed period just now, red or teal." 

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you, now?" She shoots him a fond look. 

"Can't wear them together or I'll look like a walking winter holiday," she says primly, then her expression changes. "I noticed the back of your waistcoat is red," she says her voice soft, shyly pleased. "Nearly exactly the shade..." 

Thorin raises the other eyebrow, innocence itself. She snorts, teasing, dubious.

He neither confirms nor denies. "Blue," he offers. "Nearly any shade, but I have so many shirts this bright blue. Lots of blue sweaters. Dis teases me that if it's blue, I'll buy it. Clothes, furnishings...." 

"Shoes," she points out. They grin at one another as the lift stops. 

"I'm not working." 

"And I could, in the future, tell that by your choice of footwear?" 

He inclines his head, thinking about it. "Sometimes. Tie off is a surer bet." 

"Interesting. 'Jabberwocky,'" she tells him as they make their way down hall.

Thorin grins in delighted surprise. "Me, too. Something deeply satisfying about that poem. Though I expect I'll be brushing up on my Byron soon." Bella looks a question at him. "'She Walks in Beauty.'" 

She inhales sharply. "Thorin Durinson, don't make me throw a sonnet at you. I will, too." Her voice is low and throaty and dear _god_...

"Dear god, I'm in trouble," he groans as they reach the door.

She slips her hand in his and holds tight. "Yes, my darling," she whispers. "I expect we are. Not minding." 

He smiles down into her radiant face. "Never," he agrees, voice deep with conviction. The noise of Dis stomping toward the door and cursing at her always-underfoot cat reaches them, and he leans down to intone,"'The jabberwok, with eyes of flame/came wiffling through....’"

"Oh no you _don't,_ " she laughs, smacking him on the arm, and that's how Dis finds them, Bella slapping at him, giggling, and Thorin ducking, taunting her with bits of poetry.


	3. A Flat Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Dís and exploring the flat and exposition! 
> 
> There's a short conversation in french. Translation at the end.

“Belladonna _Baggins_ ,” Dís drawls, the cat who found the cream. “I like you already.” 

“Oh my gracious,” Bella says, still breathless with laughter. “We must look about twelve.” 

“It’s a good look, especially on my brother,” Dís says, glancing from Bella to Thorin, an unsettling gleam in her eye. There’s an annoyed yowl, and she smoothly nudges the cat away from the door with her foot, not even looking. “That’s Azog. His mission in life is to kill Thorin. There was an incident with Thorin’s big feet and Azog’s tail. _Your_ mission, should you choose to accept it and enter my apartment _with_ Thorin is….”

Bella nods gravely. “I will protect him with my life.” 

“Good woman,” Dís smirks and Thorin begins to suspect a formidable friendship might form and he’s both delighted and unnerved. 

“In fact,” she says, shooing them into the hall and shutting the door behind her. “It will be marvelous to have another woman around, even for just a little while. Our circle of friends and family tends to be rather a sausage fest.” She sighs. “Not that I _mind_ sausage, it’s just nice……”

“To have a potential co-conspirator?” 

“Oooh, now I like you even better, though sadly, there’s a witness to this conversation.” They both turn and look at him consideringly. 

Definitely unnerving. _“Je ne comprends pas, madame.”_ he says, deadpan. He turns to Bella. _“Mademoiselle, je ne parle pas anglais. Aidez-moi s'il vous plait?”_

Bella regards him soberly. _“Vous êtes sous ma protection, jolie porte-bagages.”_

Dís waves a languid hand. “Splendid, see to it. Anyway, I thought I’d take you to the flat right away, after a day like you’ve had.” 

“It seems to be turning out quite well,” Bella says lightly, and bounces slightly on her toes, a blush high on her cheeks. Thorin’s hand settles on her lower back all on its’ own. Dís doesn’t say a word, or look directly at him, but her smile deepens. 

“It’s right this way, m’dears,” she says, her voice warm, and leads the way down the hall. “It’s a family floor with me on one end, Thorin on the other, and your flat here, and Balin - that’s Dwalin’s older brother, law professor at Columbia, widowed - across from him. Nice quiet floor unless my boys are here.” She unlocks the door and stands aside for Bella to enter. “And here we are. Mind the steps down. Bit of an architectural oddity that we kept.” 

Bella walks in, and Thorin feels a small swell of pride that he can tell from the line of her back and her clicking heels that she’s pleased and curious. As he motions his sister ahead of him, Dís puts a hand on his arm and squeezes it, a tiny smile on her face. That’s all she has to do to have him blushing madly. She gives him a pat and sails inside. 

“A _small_ flat?” Bella says to him incredulously. She turns to Dís. “He said a _small_ flat. This is not a small flat for New York.” She sighs happily, then turns a shrewd look on Dís. “You’re not charging me nearly enough for it.” 

Dís gives her a shrewd look right back. “You having second thoughts?” 

“Absolutely _not._ If you’re offering, I’m taking, madam. It’s lovely and _more_ than enough for what I need. Just…” 

“You’re not a fool and think I’m giving you something because my son asked if I could rent a flat to this ‘brilliant woman’ he and his uncle had met today? And then my brother calls not a half-hour later? I am. And I’d give the same rent if any of mine suggested a tenant for this flat. It’s a good place to get started from, and I like doing it, and it’s not cheating me one bit. People tend not to stay long, though I don’t think I’d mind if _you_ did.” 

Bella looks bewildered and a little frustrated. “Thank you, but you barely know me, Dís. All of you barely- ” 

“Bella Baggins, there’s Google, and you have an unusual name. You’ve a tidy professional blog with some stunning pictures and client testimonials, and quite the educational pedigree. My son could not stop talking about this afternoon, and most importantly, when I opened the door, my all-business brother was being _playful._ A grand start to be going on. Don’t you think so, strong, silent type?” 

“I haven’t seen the website, actually, but - 

“You didn’t even - “ 

“No, I prefer to get to know people the old fashioned way, without a background check!” 

“Pfft, come with us to the 21st century, Thorin.” Dís says, flapping a hand. “Come let me give you the tour. Thorin, would you take Bella’s case to the bedroom while I show her the kitchen and wifi and such? You know where the luggage rack is.” 

“Of course I do.” 

“I rather like Thorin’s approach,” he hears Bella say as he heads to the bedroom. 

“He can trot out marvelous some old-world charm when he wants, thanks to our grandparents,” Dís agrees with a throaty laugh. “And thank god a little of it rubbed off on the boys, Fili more than Kili.” It gives Thorin a warm glow. Mostly in his ears, but it does, regardless. 

When he gets back to them, Bella’s eyes are sparkling and her cheeks are pink with pleasure as she pokes through the kitchen cabinets and checks out the appliances. “When the two of you kept describing it as a guest, temporary sort of flat, I had no high hopes for a real kitchen, Dís, but this is _wonderful_ , and there are pans and tins and everything….” 

“Just step across the hall if there’s something you’re missing. A lot of things in here are from when I upgrade and the boys don’t want them. The knives aren’t bad, might need some sharpening. I popped them over here when I found a cutlery outlet in Massachusetts last fall, tiny little village, been making knives since the mid-1800’s. Went in because I’d seen them recommended on some cooking show. I went a little mad, so if you need, oh, individual mini-pie plates, a seven quart soup pot that needs Thorin or one of the lads to move off the stove when it’s full, or creme brulee cups, let me know.” 

“ _Dís_. Let me show you what I use for a creme brulee cup.” She pulls down one of the shallow, rimmed cereal bowls. “Though it’s best if you use something larger than those foofy brulee torches to caramelize.” She grins wickedly. 

“Oh my,” Thorin says approvingly. 

“Oooooh, Three times the crunchy stuff,” agrees Dís. 

“Exactly.” Thorin’s stomach chooses that moment to growl, loudly. Bella turns her smile on him. 

“Need dinner already?” She checks her watch. “Our reservations are in -” This time, it isn’t Dís that cuts her off, but an enormous crack of thunder and lightening. They all look to the windows, and another roll of thunder rumbles overhead. And then another, and it’s raining hard enough to obscure the windows. 

“Eat in, perhaps?” Dís says. “It’s beastly out there, and supposed to be through midnight.” 

“I do want to treat you to a nice dinner,” she looks at him, stricken.

“Bella, it’s perfectly all right if you want to stay in tonight. Like you said earlier, you’ve already been drenched once today.” 

“Well, I suppose if I take the flat it’ll be easy for us to schedule it another time,” she says, that shy note creeping into her voice. He shoves his hands in his pockets, itching to touch her. 

“Just down the hall,” he murmurs. 

“Or there’s, you know, _telephones_ ,” Dís adds dryly. ”Listen, Bella. I put a few essentials in your fridge, why don’t you shop my kitchen and Thorin’s and make dinner for the two of you here? I think my kitchen might be a better bet, though I know he keeps chocolate ice cream on hand, always. Very good chocolate ice cream.” 

“Oooh,” Bella says, sounding swayed, and directing a small smile Thorin’s way. “That’s my favorite.” 

“And I have some wine on hand, too, mostly reds.” 

“Better and better,” Bella grins, and peeks in the fridge. “I always feel so luxurious with these big American refrigerators.” 

“How long have you been in here?” 

“Little over a year,” she says as she opens a few more cabinets and turns on the light over the stove. “Came over to do some work for a friend I met through my tutor from uni. Used to have these impromptu dinner parties. I ended up with a job at her families’ firm, and Arwen and I got on so well, when she started a branch of the firm here - and landed a huge job in Rhode Island that took six us months to complete - Arwen asked me to transfer over, and I’ve some projects for the winter, office stuff _and_ travel, but am starting to put out some feelers……

Billa rummages through a drawer, opens a cabinet and finds a cutting board, and continues a bit absently, “I love her dearly, but I’m starting to feel I’d like to travel a little less, you know...a lot less….what she needs is on-site…. America is always so much larger than one thinks, airport security and ….wouldn’t mind doing one or two Arwen projects a year and find somewhere that does more local work. And yes, I know a landscape designer in New York City is like…..but I should look while my visa is still…. Right. Eggs, bacon….” 

Obviously settling down to work, she starts untying and shrugging off her coat, and Thorin goes to help her with it. “Thank you, darling,” she murmurs affectionately as she pokes through the kitchen some more. 

Thorin glances at Dís, and his sister has her hand over her mouth, covering a broad, delighted smile. The look she gives him clearly says, _”Darling!?”_. Thorin inclines his head, possibly a little smug, and goes to hang the coat on a peg. 

“Pasta?” Bella asks Dís. “Parmesan?” 

“Fresh and dried of both.” 

“Excellent, yes. Wait.” She looks sheepishly at Dís. “Got so excited about cooking, I forgot to look at the rest of the flat, but really, we all know I’m staying.” She stands a little taller, decisive. “I’ll take it for a month.” 

“Go take a look at the rest of the flat,” Dís coaxes. Bella rolls her eyes slightly but goes, and as she reaches him, she gives Thorin a squeeze on the arm, and tugs until he leans down a bit. 

“This is amazing, Thorin. Thank you. Also, I think your sister might want to gossip a bit,” she whispers loudly and kisses his cheek. Dís laughs. 

The moment Bella is out of earshot (or at least line-of-sight) Dís gives him a look that’s the visual equivalent of a squeal. 

“Easy now,” he murmurs. “Early days.” 

“Don’t you dare try that on me, Thorin Oakenshield Durinson. I know you. And I see her, don't know her, but clearly there's something there.” 

Thorin rubs the back of his neck. “I know. It’s. I.” 

Dís’ smile is soft, a little grief-edged. “I remember.” Her smile comes back to the moment and she gives him a look. “You look very comfortable together.” 

Thorin shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s insane, Dís. Fantastic. I just -” 

“You’ll be fine, love.” Her voice is rich with affection and conviction. “I think you’ll both do just fine. All he can do is smile at her gratefully. 

“I’ve met the shower,” Bella announces gravely. “And become acquainted with the bed. I’ll take it for the winter.” He and Dís laugh. 

“I’m putting in the lease that you can break it at any time, in case those feelers turn out to need a flat closer to the office.” 

“Thank you, Dís.” 

“Well, I’m off to go take a look at what else I’ve got in the kitchen, and fill out the paperwork. You come over when you’re ready.” She crosses to Bella and kisses her on both cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re here. Pleased to meet you, Bella.” 

Bella takes both of her hands. “I feel so welcomed, Dís. And grateful. Thank you.” 

Dís tips him a wink as she departs, and then they’re alone. 

“So, cooking lights you up,” he says softly, strolling toward her, hands still in his pockets. 

“Very much so,” she replies, coming toward him. “I am so delighted to be cooking, period, but cooking with nice, well-loved things in a kitchen without Lobelia muttering and sniping about full-fat products or _something_ disparaging and turning her nose up at eating real food, while scarfing down a microwave meal full of god knows what.” 

“She sounds crazier and crazier.” 

“Mmm,” she agrees, and threads her arms inside his overcoat and looks up at him. “Take off your coat and stay awhile, Mr. Durinson.”

“I’d love to, Miss Baggins, but I thought I’d stop by my place for ice cream and wine, and...whatever else you think you might need.” 

“Do you have any green peas? Frozen?” 

“I do actually.” Enough is enough and he takes his hands out of his pockets to hold her. “Eggs, bacon, peas,pasta….carbonara?”

“Too heavy?” 

“No, I’m starving.” 

“Good, it’s a lovely chilly homebody night meal, I can make it with my eyes shut and it doesn’t need anything spice-wise but a bit of pepper. So yes, and a salad, hopefully. Otherwise I’ll improvise.” 

Thorin watches her. “And I think you like improvising.” 

The look she gives him is not about cooking at all. “Very much so. 

He threads his hand in her hair and tips her head back to kiss each cheek slowly, then presses his forehead against hers. Her hands fist in the back of his waistcoat and her whole body is tight under his hands, quivering with anticipation. He leans down to whisper. “Chocolate ice cream, pasta, red wine, and watching you light up like that. Or,” he says, finally pressing his mouth to her throat. “Like this.” 

Bella’s breath is unsteady, as she pushes up on her toes to get closer, and he has to close his eyes and take a deep breath of his own. “Chocolate,” she murmurs. “The darker the better, raspberries over strawberries, merlot or shiraz over cabernet, full-fat over low-or no-fat, dairy abominations, and when you whisper in my ear like that, I lose my mind a little.” 

“Hmmm,” he says, and steadies her with a hand on her lower back.. “One or more of us mentally compromised is not getting us any closer to dinner.” He has to linger at that little, tender spot and nuzzles gently, nose and closed lips, and breathes in her luscious scent again.

“No,” she says tightly, arching her neck to give him better access. “And as much as I’d like to stay, I’m...” She shivers, her voice breaks, and Thorin’s resolve is crumbling. “I missed lunch in all the Lobelia mess and that scone was lovely….” 

“Right,” he says as he kisses her temple and pulls away. “Ice cream, shiraz.” 

“Food, housekey, date with you.” She takes his arm as they wander to the door. “Although most of the day with you has seemed like a date.” 

“It’s not even been a most of a day.” 

“Oh that’s just silly, it’s been at least two. And I’ve known you for ages. I’d never be so comfortable and familiar with you otherwise.” 

“Is that so,” he says, pleased. She stops at the door and looks at him seriously. 

“It really is, Thorin.” 

He takes her hand and kisses it, holds it against his heart. “I know. Me too. This is ridiculous.” 

She blushes, ducks her head and looks back up at him. “Not backing off, just...checking in.” 

He kisses her hand again, then her palm, watching her, and her eyes go dark. “I’m in. And I’ve loved every moment of it. And….” He leans down to whisper in her ear, “I’m sure I’ll love dinner, too.” 

Bella mock growls and pushes him away. “See if I tell you anything like that again.” He grins at her and walks down the hall backwards toward his flat. She does the same, leaving her door cracked open an inch. 

“Be back in a few,” he says. 

“You’re on for the next scheduled freakout slash check-in over, you know…..” she motions between the two of them. “This.” 

He frowns, walks back to her, and runs his hands comfortingly down her arms. “Bella, how much of your life changed today?” 

She rests her hands on his waist and frowns back. “A good chunk.” She bites her lip, frowning still, and he brushes his thumb at the corner of her mouth. “No, some of that, most of that, was teasing, Galahad. Yes, it has, but I’m pretty good at landing on my feet. Helped some elderly relatives, smacked down a thieving one. I was saved a trip to a dud interview, I have a place to live, I have new potential friends, my favorite shoes are miraculously not ruined because of this enormous baking berzerker and his mysterious non-drycleaning friend.”

“Well, when you put it that way….” 

“And I met this _man_. This lovely man. The thing is…”

“You’re freaking out over not freaking out.” 

She looks up at him, shifts her weight as she thinks about it, raises her eyebrows, snorts, leans into his chest and nods. He kisses the top of her head.

“Can I freak out over not freaking out, too?” 

“It’s an option,” she says, her voice slightly muffled by his waistcoat. 

“The thing is, I did my freakout with my sister. Very mild. Mostly boggling. And Dwalin finds all of this completely normal and is howling with laughter somewhere right now with Ori.” 

Bella leans back to look at him. “And Dís?” 

“She thinks we’ll be fine.” 

She smiles, that lovely radiant smile that feels like it’s just for him. She nods, and he strokes her cheek, then the corner of her mouth again, watching her eyes, her mouth. 

“We’re in the middle of the hall,” she points out. 

“Strangely reluctant to go,” he admits. 

“Dinner.” 

“Yes,” he says softly and begins to back away. 

“See you in a few.” 

He raises his eyebrows, a teasing challenge. “Race you?” 

“That would be rude to Dís.” 

He holds up a hand and counts. “Story, music, books.”

“That’s all we have left...before?” 

“We could wai-” 

“You’re on,” she grins, and spins on her heel to hurry down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely unnerving. _“I don't understand, madam”_ he says, deadpan. He turns to Bella. _“Miss, I don't speak english. Please help me?”_
> 
> Bella regards him soberly. _“I take you under my protection, handsome baggage man.”_
> 
> Thanks to Google translate, and reader Seth_Krane, a native speaker who helped me make sure they sounded far more realistic. Merci!


	4. A First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner, stories...and kissing bits. 
> 
> Many many thanks to Darthstich and Kitrazzle for vetting, cheerleading and handholding when I think I've lost my mind, can't write anymore and hate everything. They are the best.
> 
> OH, I've been instructed to issue a **Beverage Warning** for this chapter. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are THREE glorious bits of fan art for this chapter, and I've managed to embed them as links. Do please say thank you to shivi (ssillcat) and gayyybriel for their gorgeous work!

By the time Thorin returns, having dithered over the wine and run his electric razor over his stubble, which isn't the best shave, but the fastest, the door is open a bit wider and he can hear Bella humming and rattling pans about. 

“There you are,” she says warmly, all lit up again. She stops, gropes for a pencil from the jar by the phone, holds it between her lips as she coils her hair into a chignon and[ jabs the pencil home. ](http://bead-bead.tumblr.com/post/71078580026/gayyybriel-bella-baggins-from-she-walks-in)

It’s utterly domestic and unconsciously sexy, her arms raised to make a frame for her face, her lovely long neck exposed, the kitchen lights catching glints of gold and red in her hair, the wing of her collarbones, the position of her arms emphasizing the generous curve of her breasts. He stands inside the door, staring. She [glances](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1040751/chapters/2077366) up at him, already on to the next thing, reaching for an apron nearby. 

“Darling man, what are you up to?” 

He blinks and clears his throat. “Sketching, actually, though I think Renoir might have already covered it.” It’s true, he thinks as he gropes for the memory of the painting. Renoir’s [subject’s ](http://www.barnesfoundation.org/collections/art-collection/object/5323/before-the-bath-avant-le-bain)arms weren’t placed just so, her posture not as good as Bella’s. (He tries and fails to keep an artist’s detachment over how original is stripped to the waist, and that Bella’s curves are more lush, her waist more defined.) He can already see the rough sketch, is already listing the paints he’ll need to attempt the luster of her skin. Skin which is currently flushing even pinker at the implied compliment. 

“Well, come in, you, help me with a salad and pour the wine, please?” 

“I never argue with a woman who has sharp implements near at hand.” 

She smiles as she tests the heat of the skillet on the stove by hovering her palm over it briefly, and begins arranging the bacon in the pan. A pair of tongs and a paper towel lined plate already stand by. 

He tucks the ice cream in the freezer, and brushes bast Bella on the way to the waiting corkscrew and wine glasses, his hand on her back as he passes by. She tips her face up, smiling, and he’s leaning down before his brain catches up. 

“Sneaky,” he murmurs, inches from her mouth.

“Wasn’t trying, darling,” she says, voice just as low. “That was all you. I was expecting, if anything, a kiss on the forehead.” 

“Hmmm.” He kisses her temple, and goes to uncork the wine. “Dis waved a magazine article at me recently, explaining why she needed to keep Fili’s birthday cake in my flat.” 

“Not chocolate?” 

“No, fortunately for me. Sponge cake and lemon curd.” 

“Sounds divine, So why stashing it in your flat?” 

“Willpower is finite. The more of it you exert, the less you have.” 

Halfway through his explanation, she’s already shaking her head. 

“This explains _so much_ ,” she groans, poking at the bacon. “So, so much about several things.” She points the tongs at him. “Most recently? I feel less awkward about the tree-climbing comment.” 

“Oh,” he drawls. “I wouldn’t feel awkward about that at _all._ ” He smiles at her over the rim of his wine glass. 

She takes a short, sharp breath, leans against the stove and swallows hard, then pushes away and fixes him with a slightly wild look. “Hot grease,” she says, waving her tongs over the bacon. “Hot voice, hot you,” she quavers, pointing the tongs at him, then at the pile of greens and vegetables on the counter. “No, no. Bad kitchen safety. You, salad.” 

“May I bring you some wine?” 

Bella blows an errant wisp of hair off her forehead, and goes to wash her hands. “No, I’ll wait. I’m so hungry and tipsy cooking is horrible instant scrambled eggs and pasta instead of proper carbonara.” 

“Understood. Bowls or plates for the salad?” 

“Bowls for salad, plates for pasta. I hate having to chase the good salad bits around on a plate.” 

"What sort of dressing do you like?” 

“Hmmm, with the pasta, I think something a little sharpish, don’t you? I was going to use some balsamic, make a dressing. Dis let me pinch some.” 

“I can make that.” 

“Oh, lovely! A man who cooks, too?” 

“Dis and I traded off. Grill management, shepherd’s pie, lasagna, and pancakes in funny shapes a specialty. Blueberries or chocolate chips optional. Secondary degree in soups."

“Excellent,” she says, then asks him quietly. “You came to help Dis with the boys?” 

“Her husband Vili had a brain tumor,” he knows his voice is closed off, but can’t quite help it. Bella is utterly silent, and he looks over his shoulder at her. She’s taking the bacon out of the pan, and patting the excess grease off, lines of pain etched around her mouth, and turns her head at his glance. 

“That’s awful,” she says softly. “And I’m so sorry. Stories for another day?” 

Two steps and he can put his arm around her, kiss her temple, let her know his harshness wasn’t for her. “Another day, love.” 

She half-turns in his arms, strokes his cheek, stops, strokes it again. “You _shaved_ ,” she says, gleeful and deeply approving. 

“Maybe,” he murmurs and kisses her bacon-scented fingers. He just parts his lips to sample them, when she presses a lone finger over his mouth. 

“Mr. Durinson, I’d hate to have to nip your nose with these tongs. You do that and I can’t be responsible for my actions. You know how I am about kitchen safety.” 

“In fact, I do, Miss Baggins.” He darts a quick kiss to her palm and moves to a safe distance. She sighs, mock-aggrieved, at him. 

“Incorrigible flirt,” she mutters. Thorin grins at his cutting board. 

“I can feel you over there being smug,” she continues, a smile in her voice as she puts the pasta in the water. “Now where are the peas?” 

He passes them to her, and she bustles about, getting things ready to accomplish the alchemy that will turn eggs, bacon, cheese and hot pasta into a creamy sauce without scrambling the eggs instantly. Once satisfied with that, she goes to the lounge, and sets Dis’ star-shaped votive candle holders on the low table in front of the sofa, looking at him for agreement. 

“It’s cozier,” she explains. He just smiles, and she ducks her head and wipes her hands on her apron, lights the candles and moves about the flat, turning on enough lamps in the lounge that they can see to eat, and yes, it is very cozy. 

“You’re shorter,” he observes as she returns the the kitchen. She rolls her eyes. 

“Just noticing? A woman’s first task on returning home for the day is to shuck off her tights and put on some comfy shoes.” 

He looks down at her clearly well-loved brown flats. “I’ve always wondered,” he asks, hesitant. “If tights are uncomfortable, why...I know a lot of women these days don’t....” 

“Well, for one, on a day like today, I’d be bloody cold. And I like looking put together. Goosebumps are not chic.” 

He nods. “So comfy shoes, comfy clothes, right when you get home.” 

“As I’m coming through the door, my keys get tossed in a bowl and things starts flying..” 

“I do much the same, though I tend to wander about barefoot. Unless I’m visiting Dis.” 

“Azog the Vendetta Cat?” 

“Azog. Never forget, never surrender.” 

She hums, amused, as she gets out the cutlery and finds some napkins. 

“And you like suede shoes,” he adds, chopping up some hazelnuts for the salad. “I’ve seen three pair so far. Suede shoes, rose and something spicy perfume, which is just... luscious on you.” 

“Thorin,” she says, her voice slow and warm with affection, and leans against him, rubbing a fond hand down his spine. “You darling man. Yes, suede. Not always practical, they’re so pretty. I do have the cliche feminine addiction to shoes, sadly, though I also include hiking boots and garden Wellies as well as heels.” She rubs his back again, lingering, and says reluctantly, “I should check the pasta. Should be nearly ready.” 

He smiles down at her. “I’ll start the dressing.” 

They do the kitchen dance well, easy since most of the ingredients are out in the open, but they still need to duck and spin and reach around one another to get at this or that. A warm feeling of belonging begins to settle, just under his heart. She seems to catch something in his gaze, and leans against him slightly again, this time a hands-free hug. 

“Penny for 'em?”

“I’m glad we stayed in” is the best way he can explain it without telling her he’s already thought, _is_ thinking of a lifetime, together, just like this, and which might finally freak them both out if spoken aloud. He kisses her hair. She presses against him again. 

“I think this is better, too,” she says, her voice dipping into that shy tone. He’s going to have to listen closely for when that happens, figure out why. “I like cooking for you, and with you, very much. We make a good team." This time the little pressure-hug includes a kiss against his arm. “Chop a bit of the parsley when you’re done?” 

“For the dressing?” 

“Top of the pasta. Also, because you have very sexy arms, and it’s fun to watch them do things." She plants a loud, smacking kiss on his arm as she turns to check the pasta again. She darts a look over her shoulder, and it's not her teasing dimples but clear-eyed, frank affection and desire, and that makes him duck his head, smiling, a little zing of pleasure running through him.

When he looks up, Bella is arming herself with pot holders. “Right,” she says, all business. “Here we go.” 

It’s mesmerizing to watch her go through her efficient motions of preparing the pasta as he finishes his tasks, and he shifts slightly so he can watch her. 

When she says she knew this recipe well, she was not joking, as every step is as fluid and practiced as a dance; draining the large pot, her own toned forearms on display; deftly saving a bit of water to thin the sauce if needed; then putting pot and pasta back on the stove to add the bacon fat; then the cheese and egg mixture, stirring briskly to prevent the aforementioned egg scramble; then the crumbled bacon as the strong motions of the tongs slow, indicating all is well. She adds the barely-cooked peas last to the hot mixture, twirls a strand of pasta around a fork and tastes it. Adds a bit of pepper. Offers him a taste on a new fork. 

“I prefer a tiny bit more pepper.” 

“Me too.” She turns to fix it and toss the pasta some more. “Will you take the salads and...oh,” turning back, she fishes her phone out of her bra and hands it to him. 

“Playlist set up, I’ve put a bowl on the table, helps amplify the...what?” 

Thorin slaps a slow hand over his eyes, somehow trying to prevent his brain from shorting out and his eyes from gluing themselves to her cleavage. He’s sorry about the Renoir, now, he really really is, because all he can see…..

“It’s handy!” she protests. 

“Oh god, that’s not helping.” 

Billa starts to giggle, and he drags her close to bend over one arm and whisper in her ear, “It’s warm from your skin, Bella. And he can hear the ache in his own voice. “Your soft, fragrant, gorgeous skin...” 

“Tongs.” she gasps.

“Threatening, again?” 

“I can’t hold you without dripping sauce on your waistcoat.” 

“Ah.” He releases her reluctantly. “Dwalin’s mysterious non-drycleaner thanks you.” 

“Incorrigible,” she huffs, slightly glassy-eyed. She fans herself with her hand. “In-corr-i-gible.”

“I’m not sure that’s how you-” 

She points at him, growling. _“Incorrigible!”_

Thorin presses his lips together, trying to stifle a snort of laughter, and she’s a second behind him, giggling, and reaching out to smack his arm. “You seductive bastard, stop melting my brain, and let us eat. 

He catches her hand and curls it with his, over his heart. “Sorry. You’re so...” 

“Easy to wind up?” 

“Responsive.” He reaches out to touch her cheek. “Wonderful to hold, to touch.” 

She covers his hand with hers. “Thorin. You are, too.” She turns and presses a slow kiss to his palm. “Eat, and then, if we like, snog each other senseless?” 

Thorin inclines his head in agreement. “Excellent plan. You were saying something about music?” He holds up the phone.

“Yes,” she says, blushing. “Um, I set up a nice instrumental playlist, good dinner music. I’ll be right there with the pasta.” 

Thorin takes a breath as he sets the music up. Soft piano jazz, just a piano and a bass, kind of classic and not the stuff that’s all one note played for fifteen minutes. It’s good. 

Bella continues to blush when she realizes he’s waited to sit down until she arrives. He takes the plates and with a small flourish, hands her into her seat. She curls up demurely, then shifts a throw pillow into her lap and puts a hand out for her plate. He serves her, then hands her the cutlery and napkin, and puts her salad and wineglass within easy reach on the side table before sitting down and collecting his own things. 

“Darling man,” she murmurs, before tucking into her pasta. She moans softly in approval, her shoulders dropping in relaxed, blissful enjoyment. Thorin directs a smile at his plate. Most unconsciously sexy woman he’s ever met. 

Although he tasted it, the first full bite of pasta makes him groan a bit, too, and he hears her chuckle softly. 

“Oh my, did I sound like that?” He slants a look at her and Bella ducks her head, smiling broadly, then fixes him with a mischievous look. 

“Appetite is the best sauce,” she murmurs in a light voice, gaze sultry, toasting him with her wine, and he toasts her in reply, a small grin spreading across his face. Right. Devastatingly sexy when she puts her mind to it.

They make their way through dinner, chatting about music. 

“I enjoy just about anything I can harmonize with,” Bella admits, pulling the pencil out of her makeshift chignon and running a careless hand through it. “Except for some old fashioned twangy country, and bluegrass. Honestly, bluegrass tends to be the most depressing lyrics to the most sprightly tunes you’ve ever heard. I just want to give the whole genre free access to Prozac.” 

“You’ve been listening to a lot of American music then? Was that always the case or just since you’ve been here?” 

“Just since I’ve been here. I tend to try to find two things when I visit a new place: the best local food, and the best local music. I’ve had some terrible heartburn and...earburn but also found some fantastic things.” 

“Favorite?” 

“Hmm, that’s a bit like asking me my favorite color. My current favorite….you know that job in Rhode Island I mentioned? I went to a concert one night...this fantastic little band from Connecticut, two fiddle players, a bassist - who also plays banjo, ukelele - and a drummer who, get this, constructed his own portable drum kit out of a suitcase, some biscuit tins and tuna cans and a cardboard box with drawing paper on it for the proper sound. All of it can be tucked up into the suitcase. It’s amazing, and has this lovely, homey, understated feel. Made me realize how overpowering some drums can be." 

"Now _they_ manage to take all the best bits of American folk music and turn it into something warm and evocative and joyful, instead of a pretty tune you suddenly realize is about a guy pining over his Sunshine who’s gone and left him in a cold and empty bed, and she's going to regret it, just you wait, and you feel a bit creepy having sung along. But this band, oh, they are so good. Once I caught the choruses, I was singing along, adding my own harmony, of course, in the back where I wouldn’t bother anyone. I’ll loan you the CDs.” 

“I think I’d rather listen to with you, maybe hear you sing.” 

She flushes with shy pleasure, and reaches out to poke his arm along the back of the couch, missing by a foot or so. “I bet you sing, with your lovely speaking voice. I’ll sing if you sing with me.” 

Thorin reaches out to thread his fingers through hers. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll sing with you, and then I’ll play piano for you.” He thought a moment. “I might have to practice a bit first. 

“Oh, you play. I do wish I had a better teacher. I got bored so fast. I can’t even read music anymore. Forgotten the lot of it.” 

“I took for years and years, our Gran insisted that we learn how to play something, and of course Dis tortured the boys into doing the same.” 

“So they play piano, as well?” 

“No, they got bored with piano, too, and wound up with violin lessons, but now they both play fiddle down the pub, lots of Gaelic music and some American folk stuff. They have friends who have contra - folk - dances fairly regularly. So I took possession of the piano.” 

“I’d love to hear you play.” 

“Just be kind, I haven’t played in ages. Mostly classical. I’ll have to think of something to play for you.” 

“Have to get it just right, do you?” 

“Hmmm,” he evades and becomes busy with his wineglass. 

“Music, painting, cooking, french, terribly funny, achingly gallant and so very dear. I might have to keep you,” she says lightly, squeezing his hand, and when he looks up, her eyes aren’t teasing. 

Thorin untangles their hands, and leans forward to kiss her knuckles, then a bit higher, then right over her wrist. He glances up at her, and she turns her hand in his to offer her palm, face radiant. 

“I certainly hope so,” he replies, with the same lightness, the same honesty, and presses his mouth against her skin until her hand trembles in his. He withdraws to his side of the sofa, and they watch one another a moment, the air thick and sweet and slow again, electric flickers of want just underneath. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of you kissing me like that,” she says, voice low, eyes luminous, hand curled over her heart. 

“Then I’ll do my best to see you won’t.” He collects his wine glass and lifts it, a promise. Bella inclines her head, eyes shining, softly joyful, and lifts her glass as well. 

“At uni, I once stuffed a baby hedgehog down my bra,” she tells him calmly, and he nearly spits his wine out in surprise. He claps his hand over his mouth, trying to swallow while laughing and glaring at her at the same time. She raises her eyebrows and sips her wine, a little wicked cat smile on her face. 

“You. What?” 

“My tutor, Duncan Radagast, was fostering them, since, as you know, they’re endangered species back home. Their mother had been killed.” 

“I didn’t know, but go on. Also, what were you doing with a tutor that specializes in animals?” 

“He was just fostering them. Part of the natural sciences department; does all sorts of things besides be a brilliant horticulturist, knew just about everything you might want to know about enriching soils and forests and the little animals that live there. Anyway, he was fostering them, and I went over to peek at them in the little area he’d set aside for them to play without wandering off too far or getting hurt. And I was trying to play with this one little guy, and I suppose I spooked him, and he curled up tight tight. Of course, that was the moment Radagast came trundling in and I panicked, and…” She mimed popping something into her bra. 

“And you would think that would be a lesson to you.” 

“Oh, stop, it’s _handy_. You have no idea how much of women’s clothing doesn’t have pockets.” Bella casts a hand down her dress as an example, and Thorin gives it (and her in it) a lingering, appreciative glance. She sees it and takes a short, breath, trembling just the tiniest bit (like she does when he kisses her palm, oh very like), and that banked ember of desire to go to her flares softly to life. They watch one another a moment, silent, and Bella takes another breath and blinks her way back to her story. 

“A-Anyway, it was a bit uncomfortable, of course.” 

“Of course.” 

“Like a cross between a pincushion and a stiff bristle brush. And I’m trying to keep my mind on what we were supposed to discuss that day, desperately trying, when all of a sudden, I felt it uncurl and move.” 

Thorin raises his eyebrows. 

“I should have mentioned I was wearing a v-necked shirt, and, well….he poked his head out to test the air, I suppose.” 

“And Professor Radagast, not even blinking, says, ‘Oh, hello Sebastian, how did you get all the way over there?’ and lurched forward in his chair, completely intent on the baby hedgehog, ready to fish him out of trouble and put him back where he belonged!” Thorin starts shaking, little whickers of laughter bursting out as he catches a breath. He’s betting her imitation of an absent-minded old loon of a don is dead-on. 

“I had to say, ‘Oh do, let me, please!’” blushing fit to catch fire, and the old dear says in a very slow fluster, ‘Oh! Well. I. So terribly....there's a good girl, I’llgofetchsometea’ scuttled off and didn’t come back.” 

Bella grinned, “And when our hour was over, I just let myself out.” She spreads her hands wide. “And _that_ is the story - how my old tutor nearly accidentally groped me and the on-the-lam baby hedgehog in my cleavage - that I never told my family.” 

Thorin finally gives over, laughing until his stomach hurts. A fresh wave of laughter hits him as he pictures the little head poking out of the vee of her shirt, Bella’s carefully innocent face above it, and starts giggling all over again. She looks a question at him, and all he can do is crook two fingers above the vee of his waistcoat and do his best to imitate the enquiring face of a baby hedgehog. One adorable, unladylike snort, and she’s giggling too. 

“Oh my god,” he says finally, shaking his head at her in horrified delight. He stops and wipes his eyes with a napkin. “I’m afraid I have nothing more interesting that getting locked out of my rooms wearing nothing but spats and a top hat.” 

She raises a superior brow. "No endangered species involved? _Amateur._ "

“I bow to your superior accidental shenanigans. Though I would like to point out it was February.” Bella winces in sympathy. 

“Wait. Just spats? No shoes? How…” 

Thorin spreads his hands, still fuzzy on the details himself. Bella shakes her head at him and reaches across the back of the sofa again for his hand. He links his fingers with hers. 

“Ice cream?” she asks fondly. 

“Always. I’ll get the dishes.” 

“Thank you.” 

Their kitchen dance is just as easy as it was earlier, as they put away the dinner things and wipe down the counters, but this time, there’s that awareness of her, like it had been in the lobby. He can sense where she is anywhere in the room, an elemental pull, and feels as if they were set down in random corners of the city, he could point to her, find her with no hesitation. 

Their hands touch, linger, as plate is passed from hand to hand. He brushes by her more slowly, hand on her shoulder or back, relishing the warmth, the solid, beautiful presence of her. No longer the bustling cook of earlier, she sways from one motion to the next, and her eyes meet his, warm with promise, her hands linger just as much. 

The dishes are done, put away, and Bella pulls down some bowls for ice cream. 

“Would you like some coffee?” She murmurs, color high on her cheeks. She speaks as if it’s a little difficult to talk, as if the tide that’s pulling them under takes an effort to fight against. It does. His heart thuds loud in his chest, and Bella’s breathing is unsteady when she continues, “I think I saw a press….” 

“Bella,” he says, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, and stroking her hair lightly, asking silently for her to turn. She does, shyly, unable to quite look at him. Thorin cups her cheek and she leans into it, eyes closed, the barest smile gracing her mouth.

“La Bella Belladonna,” he whispers, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. He ghosts it just under her lower lip. She trembles, her lips parting slightly. “May I?” 

She walks into his arms, hands running up his back to nestle close, and when she meets his eyes, radiant, luminous, the intensity of feeling in her gaze takes his breath, nearly rocks him back on his heels, so when he bends to gently take her mouth, his breath is as ragged as hers, both of them a little unsteady from the start, and then the plush cushion of her lower lip, the almost unbearable sweetness of her mouth, the warmth of her in his arms, and it’s both settling and intoxicating. Thorin changes the slant of his lips, and there’s a shift, a nearly audible click of _home_ and _belonging_ and _right._

Bella shudders against him, a breathy, pleased moan pressed against his lips. She shivers and sighs as she kisses him, generous and passionate and fierce. It does something complicated to his heart, a tender, proud, protective, lustful ache, and he wants… 

Thorin pulls her closer, asking for a deeper kiss and she melts against him with a sweet, longing mewl, her knees buckling. He bends with her, and scoops her up to settle her on the counter. Groaning happily, her arms, legs wrap around him, her hands slide in his hair, keeping him close, and she matches him kiss for kiss, then suddenly, they slide from deeper to devouring, and Bella is biting at his mouth and clutching at his arms, his back, and making gorgeous soft sounds, short, whimpering breaths and purrs of pleasure. 

And Thorin can’t help but growl his approval as he runs his hands over her legs to cup her hips, skim his his hands up her waist, and back down, reveling in every curve he touches. He sketches the shape of her again and again with his hands, slow, slow slow even strokes, and their kiss slows, too, not that slow with Bella is any less intense, her body swaying and pressing into his touch, as if she’s becoming just as aware of his hands as she is of his mouth. 

She sways and twists, trembling even more, and when he allows himself to brush his thumbs across her ribs, brush just under the curve of her breasts, Bella makes this sound, this delicious, longing hum, and arches in his arms, sliding forward on the counter. Thorin grabs her hips and holds on tight, pressing into her for just a moment, just a moment.

She arches again instantly and pants, clearly feeling how hard he is for her, and just like that, just like that, their kiss flashes hot slick sweet _desperate_ as he holds himself pressed as close as can be to the light and warmth and trembling heat of her, this Bella, his Bella, delicious, gorgeous, generous Bella, and Thorin kisses her with everything he is, everything he has and all that he hopes for. And Bella, Bella….

Bella’s hips buck against his restraining hands, and she shakes in his arms, crying out sharply against his mouth, and he tears himself away to bury his face in her neck, gasping and breathing her in as she quivers and curls around him, pressing kisses against wherever she can reach. 

“Did you...oh god you gorgeous woman…” 

“Mmmhmm, little bit,” she murmurs, voice warm and throaty….and shy. Thorin pulls back and looks into her beautiful, blushing, sheepish face, and can feel her starting to tense, and he feels sure someone somewhere needs to have their face very thoroughly punched if they _ever_ made any disparaging comments about her responsiveness, because dear _god_.... 

He strokes her hair, her cheek, tries to let her see all the wonder he’s feeling. “Belladonna,” he whispers, keeping any hint of teasing from his voice. “La Bella. Spoiling me for anyone else.” That earns him her slow sunburst smile.

“I plan on it,” she says softly. She clears her throat. “I’d like to petition for a replacement to my best first kiss.” 

Thorin chuckles softly, not a hint of male pride in sight, no, no never, and leans in to kiss her temple, to nuzzle his way down cheekbone and jaw “I would like to be entered into the record as co-petitioner for the same reques-” He gets distracted when she arches her neck to give him better access and gathers her in to lavish attention on her throat. 

“Soooooo,” she drawls, dreamy and wondering as she wraps her arms comfortably around his shoulders. _”That’s_ going to work well.” Thorin starts to laugh and stays there, face pressed against her fragrant skin, snickering. Bella starts to giggle, too. 

“You _think?_ ” He finally manages. 

Bella hugs him and says, voice dipping shyly. “I do. That’s, um...that’s never happened to me before.” 

“Ohhh,” he breathes. “Lucky me.” He leans back to cup her face and kiss her forehead, eyelids, cheeks, and then her mouth softly. “Because after a kiss like that from you, with you, who would ever,” he kisses her mouth again, resisting the pull to just sink back under and kiss her breathless again. “Who would ever, ever let you go?” 

“Thorin,” she chides him, blushing. "You were the one doing the kissing." 

“Bella,” he says seriously, pulling back to look into her face. "Oh, clearly a mutual effort..no one’s ever…I’ve not...I’m not... _you._ ” He stops and takes a breath. “I’m not _casual_ about this, Bella. Not this sort of thing, not…you.” He kisses her forehead and whispers. “I meant what I said about spoiling me for anyone else. That started happening before, long before, maybe the moment you first laughed, maybe when you trembled when I first kissed your hand but... _Bella_. La Belladonna.” He shakes his head, “That kiss.” 

“I meant what I said about keeping you,” she whispers back, joy clear in her voice as she snuggles closer. She huffs a small laugh. “And now that sounds a bit creepy out loud.” She takes a breath. “ I’m not casual either, about friendship, love or sex. I-I don't feel casual about you, not a bit." Her voice dips into that shy tone. "I hope for all of those with you.

“I do, too. [Just checking in](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1040751/chapters/2077403),” he says, smiling, and sweeps her up for a long, leisurely kiss. After, he keeps her close, basking in the warmth of her gaze, her smile. 

“I’m in,” she says, soft and sure. 

“As am I,” he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Facts! 
> 
> The [Renoir. ](http://www.barnesfoundation.org/collections/art-collection/object/5323/before-the-bath-avant-le-bain)
> 
> I totally read that article about willpower being finite. I think it was in Psychology Today. Don't you feel better? I feel better. 
> 
> Bluegrass, y'all. De-press-ing. 
> 
> The band I mention is [Rani Arbo and Daisy Mayhem](http://www.raniarbo.com/jukebox/) and that' s a link to their website's jukebox. Rani and my husband used to work in the same design firm about 20 years ago. I cannot recommend them highly enough. Good people, great music. I think my favorite album is Cocktail Swing, but the two new albums I just finally got around to getting are pretty damn spiffy. As in already happily belting out harmony halfway through the first listen of the song spiffy. 
> 
> The carbonara recipe came from the Food Network. 
> 
> Hedgehogs are totally endangered in the UK, y'all. THE HORROR. Also? "Duncan" means "Brown" because I thought naming him "Brown Radagast" a little too on the nose. 
> 
> "La Bella Belladonna" means "The Beautiful Beautiful Woman," which, while redundant, is alliterative and damn fun to say. Now imagine that rolling around in Richard Armitage's voice. Yeah. I know. 
> 
> Do let me know if I have any brit-pickery wrong. Nothing felt off, but then again, I'm from Georiga.
> 
> Happy Sunday, lovlies!


	5. A Decision to Savor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a while to say goodnight after a first kiss like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! Took me SO LONG to stomp this chapter into submission, y'all. Because of reasons. And that Thorin's a seductive bastard who took over a month to wrassle with his willpower.
> 
> It's a short chapter, but I think y'all will like it.

~~~

Thorin brushes a lock of hair behind Bella’s ear, the better to stroke her cheek. “I should go,” he says softly, going against every tender, wanting cell in his body. “You haven’t even unpacked yet.”

"Um…." Bella flushes, ducks her head a moment, then looks up at him, biting one side of her lower lip. Thorin’s thumb comes up of its’ own accord, to stoke that corner of her mouth until she stops worrying at it, strokes her lip gently, then leans in to kiss her, seeking to soothe the tender skin of that little spot, that corner of her mouth. She sighs and yearns up to meet him, and it is all too easy to slant his mouth over hers, sink into a languid kiss. 

When he pulls back, she is all lit up again, eyes shining, and legs swinging cheerfully against the cabinets.

"Darling man," she purrs, stroking his arms lightly.

"Pure self defense. Your biting your lip like that…." he swallows hard. "It’s a bit distracting," he finishes hoarsely.

Bella looks at him in genuine bewilderment. 

He clears his throat, trying desperately not to picture it. “Makes me wonder under what other circumstances,” his eyes fall helplessly to her lush, kiss-swollen mouth. “You might bite your lip. 

“Oh,” she breathes, and hitches a tiny breath. She reaches for him, and tugs his mouth down to hers, and adds a few nips and bites to his mouth until he has to tear himself away and bury his face in the crook of her neck. 

“This is not helping me find the will to leave,” he murmurs in her ear. 

“About that,” Bella says, tapping him on the shoulder so he can lean back and look at her. “I was, I am, going to ask you something very selfish and a bit presumptuous on my part, so please, do feel free to say no, especially if you have to work tomorrow.” 

“I wasn’t planning on working over the weekend, maybe answer a few emails, but I don’t truly have to get back to work until Monday.” 

“Though you probably do work through the weekend, normally.” 

“Not the whole weekend.” He shrugs. She looks at him steadily, and he hangs his head. "Right, that's not entirely true. I'd like to think I help Dis putter around with the building more often than I do, go to a museum with her, or a film with Dwalin, if we feel the need to see something with lots of explosions. He and I play do racquetball sometimes, and I do all those things, plus go listen to the boys when they play down the pub, but, not as often as I have the chance...when I'm on my own... ” He shrugs again. “I get caught up.” 

"Don't let me get you in trouble with your clients," she says softly. 

Thorin runs a hand down her hair to her shoulder, then back up to her cheek to stroke. "Let me worry about that." 

Bella regards him a moment, then grins. "You'll set them straight, won't you, set them down right hard." 

"Might have done a few times when the lads were small and I couldn't come running when a client snapped their fingers, because the lads had a game or recital. And if they didn't like it..." Thinking back to a particularly annoying client, his voice lowers to a growl before he realizes it. 

She grins, leaning back on her hands to take him in. "You're thinking of someone in particular." 

"Yes." 

"Oooh," she says huskily, giving a little shiver. "I'm not sure I should find that glower as attractive as I do."

"Oh really," he replies in his lowest voice, leaning in, his arms on either side of her, angling his body over hers and moving in to an inch from her lips, openly admiring how she looks, devouring with his eyes when he'd prefer to be using mouth and hands. "Because you'll find I can be quite the grouchy bastard." 

"Can you now?" she says, her own voice going low and sultry. One calf caresses his thigh. 

"I'm assured it's a frequent state." 

"Hmmm," she regards him from half-lidded eyes. "I'll have to see what I can do about that." 

"Will you?" 

"Count on it." She threads her hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, and she uses that and her legs wrapping ‘round him to pull herself up, drawing him into a confidant, utterly devastating kiss. Thorin groans against her mouth, and cannot help but pull her even closer. 

It’s a different kind of desperate, this slow, lush kiss. He doesn’t press into her, she doesn’t sway into him, it isn't urgent, but it’s there, the surety that they can affect, arouse one another deeply and all too quickly. She trembles, hard, voice breathy and sharp, her bracing hand on the counter faltering, and his hands slide to steady her, pull her close, thumbs brushing the outer curve of her breasts, not deliberate, but she moans, breath hitching in a yearning curl, and his hands burn to touch her. 

Thorin takes a deep breath, and gentles the kiss, pulling away from her slightly to whisper against her lips. “Willpower is finite.” 

“Mmm,” she breathes, agreeing.

“Not here, in the kitchen, Belladonna. There are rules, I hear.” 

“I know.” Her words draw out, voice thin, as she shivers again and tries to suppress it. “Not -” 

“Not yet.” 

“Not yet.” 

“Though I want to, oh, how I want to.” 

She whimpers, still quivering slightly, her hand tightening on the back of his neck, her breath hot against his skin. 

“But I can’t.” 

Bella stiffens in his arms and starts to pull away. 

“No, no, shhh, love,” he says, reaching out to cup her dear sweet face, her silky hair caught between his palms. “Said that wrong. I can’t _yet_. Because I’m going to fall in love with you…” 

_”Thorin,”_ she gasps, her eyes brightening with tears. She nods, breath hitching. “I -” She chokes up and hangs onto his forearms, struggling with her breath, and he leans forward to kiss her forehead. 

“I _am_ falling in love with you, and I don’t care how crazy that sounds after only a day,” he says softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. She gives him a watery, radiant smile. “So I want to savor this, Bella. Savor every moment and meal and talk and story about hedgehogs in your bra…” 

Bella laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yes,” she whispers. “That.” 

“Even though every cell in my body wants to carry you in the other room and start by seeing how much pleasure I can give without taking one more stitch of clothing off of you. Because the way you respond, Bella, the way we are together, it's like nothing I’ve ever experienced, and it's everything I want, and everything I want to give you.” 

Her eyes close and she sways. “Oh _god_ ,” she murmurs, shaking again. “Thorin.” She reaches for him.

Letting himself pull her close, he kisses her slowly, softly. “I can almost see you, hear you, almost know the way you’ll move for me, La Bella, but I’ll wait,” he says in her ear. Her body winds tight under his hands, shivering, and he knows a kiss, a touch more, and she will melt into him, asking for more, and his control will snap. "I'll wait, because I want more for us." He takes another deep breath. 

“I want to fall in love with you a slower way, because I know you, because I know all your different smiles and what makes you sad and how it is to sing with you, your favorite chocolates and flowers, the little things of life and the big ones, not just because we are, we are _going to be_ , absolutely brilliant in bed." 

Bella nods against his chest, breath still hitching, and hugs him tight. 

“That, and I’m certain my condoms are old enough to attend preschool.” 

Surprised, she giggles, watery and snickering. “Oh god,” she says, snorting adorably. “I have this picture of them marching down the sidewalk with little lunchboxes and... “ 

“Oh, thanks for that, I’ll be giggling my way through the shop,” he mock-growls, laughing too, gleeful, rocking her in his arms. He buries his face in her neck, already a favored haven, and she combs her fingers through the hair at his nape as their laughter winds down. 

“Scaring you off yet?” he asks lightly. “These mad declarations?” She pulls back and gives him a look, her face still streaked with tears. 

“Do I look scared to you?” 

“No,” he drawls, a little wary, as he finds a napkin and brushes her hair out of her face as she dries her cheeks.

“Thorin,” Bella chides him gently, tosses the napkin aside and reaches up to frame his face in her hands to bring him closer again. “That’s the loveliest, the most wonderful, most _loving_ thing anyone’s ever said to me. And I agree, I want to savor this, too. I...I feel the same way,” she looks down shyly, her hands sliding to his chest. “About falling in love with you." She looks up at him, expression so tender. "I'm already falling, and you're, this, is very much worth savoring.” 

“Good,” he replies softly, gathering her up for another hug. “Good." She relaxes into him, sighing. 

They rest there a long moment, until, her feet merrily kicking against the cabinets, she says, “It certainly was the most beautiful - and surprisingly erotic - brush-off I’ve ever had,” she teases, and kisses his neck, quickly, when he squawks. 

“I do warn you, though,” she leans back to look him soberly in the eye. “There’s only the one hedgehog in the bra story.” 

“Damn.” 

Bella wraps him up tight in her arms and makes a completely contented sound. “Sorry, darling,” she whispers. 

“I’m not.” 

“Well, I’m not either, the damn thing was scratchy.” 

“Well,” he mock-sighs. “I’m sure there are other regrettable things you’ve stuck in your bra stories.” 

Snickering, she replies. “I will neither confirm nor deny.” 

“Hmm, we have ways of making you talk.” 

Bella pulls back and gives him an arch, speculative look. “Do you now?”

He brushes her nose with his. “Mmmhmm.” 

“Something to explore then?” 

“What’s stored in your bra or ways of making you talk?” he asks innocently. She smacks him on the arm, then pauses to think. 

“Both?” 

“As you wish,” he murmurs, and takes her hand to kiss the palm. 

“Seductive bastard,” she says affectionately. “Darling man.” 

“I should go,” he sighs, and kisses her palm again. 

“You should. I want to kiss you again.” 

“Oh no,” he deadpans. “Anything but that.” 

Bella doesn’t take the bait. “I was meaning to ask you to breakfast/brunch/meal of your choice in the morning. I’d very much like to spend some time with you this weekend. What I was trying to get at before I was so deliciously distracted. That and I was going to ask you to stay and eat ice cream and visit with me tonight while I unpacked.”

“Only the bed to sit in there, where your suitcase is," he observes, mouth gone dry. " In the bedroom.” He tries not to imagine the casual back and forth of her puttering around, putting things away, stopping occasionally for a bite of ice cream and a kiss. He closes his eyes, swallowing hard, the image of pulling her down to join him all too vivid. “I would have said yes, before…” 

“Before,” she nods, agreeing, eyes dark, clearly seeing his train of thought. “Just to note; I am not complaining about how things turned out _at all._ ” 

“Good.” 

“I did, after all, net a pint of ice cream,” she adds softly, her eyes luminous with joy that is not about ice cream. 

“Cheeky,” he murmurs, heart swelling with affection, and strokes her cheek with his knuckles. “I would like to spend some time with you, too, but...do you want to get settled, here? Do you have things you need to fetch from your cousin’s? You can’t have been here a year and have just one suitcase.” 

She goes a little pale. “Lord, I shudder to think what she would have done to any of my things if I’d left them there. There wasn’t enough room in her storage area at her building. No, I have some things in a little storage locker place.” 

“We could go get them tomorrow if you like. There’s a van for lugging stuff about on sites and for Fili to collect architectural antiques. It’s over at the office. Anything large enough we might need the lads to help shift?” 

“No. Just boxes of clothes and such. That would be _very_ kind and helpful, Thorin. I don’t want to eat up your weekend moving me.” 

He leans forward and gives her a soft kiss and a smile. “You won’t. I’d be delighted to help.” 

“So...what time?” 

“I’ll need time to call Fili and make sure he doesn’t have the truck. Shall I call around…9ish, 9:30?” 

“Good, gives me a little bit of a lie-in.” 

“Like those?” 

“Love those,” she replies warmly, her eyes sparkling. 

“Hmmm,” he kisses her palm and stays to brush his lips over the sensitive skin of her wrist. 

“Thorin,” she breathes. 

“Hmm?” 

“One more kiss.” 

“I think we can manage that,” he murmurs, and leans in. 

~~~


	6. A Few Minor Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I wasn't quite done with them saying goodnight. :)

For all their planning, there is one key fact they’d overlooked; neither of them has the other’s phone number, and he has to turn back five steps from her door.

“Thorin?” She calls through the door at his knock. 

“Yes, sorry. I just realized I don’t have your phone number.” 

Bella laughs. “Oh lord, we’re ridiculous. Just a moment.” He hears her unlock the door and it comes part way open. She leans against the edge and smiles at him, tousled and flushed and delectable. 

“Hi.” 

“I suppose I could have just knocked on the wall,” he admits. 

“I’d sleep right through it,” she says, shaking her head and opening the door wide. “Come on in.” 

Her phone is a few steps away, still on the coffee table, and when she turns around, he realizes he’d caught her already getting undressed for bed, because her dress is tied differently. Looser, more like a bathrobe, and the neckline is even more plunging. He bites the inside of his cheek, and snaps his eyes to his phone, opening up a new contact and typing in her name.

“Here,” she says, offering him her phone. “Trade? All you have to do is put your numbers in.” As she moves, the dress shifts and there’s a hint of lace, black, against her skin, and he curls his hand into a fist to not reach out, brush his fingers along that scalloped edge. He clears his throat and makes the phone exchange. He really has more control than this. Truly. 

“Tomorrow,” she asks as she taps in her number. “Were you meaning for us to leave around 9:30ish, or talk about leaving?” 

“It depends on how early a start you want. We could head to breakfast and then pick up the truck…” 

“I have to admit; I’m not my best in the morning,” she says, smiling sheepishly as they make the phone exchange again. 

“Is that right?” he asks, drifting nearer and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Grumpy?” 

“And Dopey, Sleepy and the rest of the seven dwarves.” She tosses the phone to the couch, slides her arms around his waist for a hug, and he happily gathers her in. 

“Sneezy?” He leans down to whisper in her ear. “Bashful?” 

“Currently? Happy,” she whispers back, with a giddy chuckle, her hand in his hair, and snuggles in for another hug as he snorts. “Oh, you know I had to say it, it was right there. Though, in the morning it’ll take me awhile to be happy about anything.” 

“Do you want to get started later?” It is impossible, her, warm in his arms in this silky smooth dress, not to run his hands over her arms, her back, her hair, as he holds her. She sighs, content. 

“No, just warning you, really. I’m an awful grump until I get a little caffeine in me and some food.” 

“You know,” he replies, kissing her hair. “I did bring a little snack of scones and cream from the office. I’ve left it in my bag. Why don’t I ring you after I talk to Fili, and bring that by, and we can plan the day?” 

“I could make us some eggs, too,” Bella murmurs, propping her chin on his chest and looking up at him. 

“No, all you do,” he leans down and kisses her nose. “Is wake yourself up. I’ll handle the rest.” 

“Darling man,” she says fondly. 

Thorin cups her cheek and presses a kiss to her forehead, then steps out of her arms. She trails after him to the door, and he turns at the threshold to brush his knuckles against her cheek, and then down her throat to the vee of her neckline and back up, and again, lightly stroking the upper slope of her breast, newly revealed by her shifted dress. Bella's eyes fall shut as she sways into the touch on a long, shivering breath. When he strokes just her cheek and goes no further, she opens them slowly, meeting his gaze. 

“Sweet dreams,” he murmurs, and leans in for a soft kiss. She shifts closer, rising on her toes to run her hands up his chest, into his hair, nails scraping deliciously on his scalp, and back down, stroking her fingers across that sensitive place beneath his ear, bites softly at his mouth, then settles back on her heels. He can’t help but make a little sound of loss as she slips away. 

“Sweet dreams,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. 

“I deserved that,” he says ruefully, still feeling the imprint, the press and slide of her body against his. She puts a finger over his lips. 

“All that and more. But not yet,” she says, pushing him into the hall with gentle hands, and shuts the door, eyes sparkling still, in his face. 

 

~~~

He wakes in the wee hours of the morning, terrified, the knowledge hitting him that he’d told her he was falling in love with her, all but proposed to her, after less than a day, and that he is lying in his bed, _missing her_ , wanting to see her grouchy, beautiful face when she wakes in the morning, wanting her tangled up in his sheets, in his arms, missing what they don’t have yet. 

He rolls over, burying his face in his pillow, wondering if this is what Dwalin and Ori had felt, wondering if this is what Dís had felt, all those years ago, this intensity, this _longing_ so soon. He wonders if he has the courage to ask Dís, her grief and the possibility he might be slightly mad both genuine worries. Here, alone, without Bella, it all seems very improbable and mad, utterly mad. 

Thorin closes his eyes and tries to get back to sleep, but images and sense memories of Bella wash over him, heavy and warm, and he shifts against the sheets, restless. He remembers the conviction, the intensity of feeling in her eyes, her voice, her touch, and knows, _knows_ he’s not alone in madness. He takes a deep breath and sighs, trying to melt into the bed, make himself relax.

He’d already taken care of himself when he came home, her subtle scent clinging to him, the memory of her lips, her sighs, the soft strength of her under his hands chasing him through the door. He’d thrown off his clothes and rushed to the shower, knowing smelling her perfume on his skin would keep him up, (pun completely intended) and replayed their first kiss, her incredible responsiveness, her sharp cry of pleasure, until he was groaning and shaking, one hand braced on the wall to keep from falling. 

And here he is, aching for her anew, and thinks that maybe it would have been a comfort to have her scent sinking into his skin as he slept. He rolls over, contemplating what he’d told her; that he’d like to start making love to her by seeing how much pleasure he could give her before a scrap of clothes come off. He slides his hand down his belly. Never hurts to plan. 

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin actually has proposed, just a touch...if this were the Third Age and he was a dwarf. You'll have to find where.
> 
>  


	7. A quick note (don't worry!)

Hey y'all. I am still working on this, but the next chapters will be delayed a bit. I'm doing some pretty intensive physical therapy and neuromuscular retraining (think ergonomics for your whole body) and it's _exhausting_ and leaves me often a bit jelly brained. Basically I'm relearning how to walk, sit, stand, sleep, hold things, exercise, bend and twist. Long years of various injuries (breaks, sprains and ripped joints) poor posture, repetitive stress injuries and such have come home to roost and I'm trying to make sure the next 20-30 years of my life is not spent in misery and on pain meds. 

__Things are going great, but. Ow. And so tired. I hit a point in this therapy last summer that was like this, and it lasted about a month before it all shook out and I stopped being so wiped. That's what I'm hoping for here._ _

__This note is to both assure you I won't leave you hanging, and to take a bit of pressure off myself.__

ETA JUNE 6, 2014. I have not abandoned this. RL has...exploded. Both cats died, I slipped a disc, am unsure how far that sets me back with my PT as of yet. MRI soon. I shall return.


	8. STILL DON'T WORRY (She Walks Update)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've not abandoned this, honest, details below.

****

ETA AUGUST 21, 2014. Slipped disc healed almost to the point I was in in May when I slipped it. I've got a lot plotted out for "She Walks," but just don't have enough stamina to write for long, as I'm having trouble with repetitive stress stuff and wrestling mightily with dictation programs, which are very antithetical to how I write. 

And I just got really frustratingly blocked. I'll be honest, embarrassing as it is for a woman my age. A troll kept messaging me on Tumblr, saying stuff like, "When are you writing more for She Walks In Beauty, it's not nice to leave people hanging like this. It makes people unhappy. Post soon," which RUDE, and I blocked them. I'm not even sure how many messages there were, but suffice it to say I began to get a little jumpy, a little anxious whenever I saw something in my inbox. 

I'm sorry to say it affected my love for the story and writing in general for....weeks. Really a month. And then I had lost my momentum or mojo or whatever and had a devil of a time getting it back. I know I shouldn't let trolls affect me so, but geez, I'm not a machine, and I do this for *free,* for goodness sake, and am a human being with other things to do, sorry for the current transport malfunctions and that they are inconveniencing _you_. (Which I told them, and they ignored.) UGH. 

So. A lesson to those who don't know; _shaming is never a way into an author's good graces._ In fact, shaming is never the thing to pick if one wants to have a positive outcome in most relationships. And in every case, I will react to such messages by not wanting to touch the fic with a ten foot pole, mostly out of admittedly childish spite, and also out of stubbornness because OMG, SO RUDE, so you'll get the opposite of what you want, because that behavior is not to be encouraged. Anywho.

DESPITE THE ABOVE, MY DARLINGS, I'VE WRITTEN THE "SHE WALKS" FIRST LOVE SCENE, and it's 10K+ words long and took a good week to write, because being in Thorin's head while he's in love and turned on is...quite the ride. I had to get up and walk it off a few times because I would get all hazy-eyed. They really adore each other, y'all, in such a dear way. My gracious, I love playing with the attraction between these two. It'll be worth the wait. Honest. Hopefully. I am very sorry it's taken so long. 

If you're reading other stories of mine, I think the next completed chapter will be for "Pearl of the Evening, the Rewrite." I'm more done with it than most, it, too, has a few scenes written ahead, actually there are quite a lot in the can, so to speak, written last summer for the _old_ Pearl, so things should pick up ::crosses fingers:: after I get the next few chapters polished. 

And "To Kiss A Stranger" has become a series, thanks to a kind reader who introduced me to a new video by the same woman who made "First Kiss," the inspiration behind that fic. Wrote another Bella/Thorin piece, ["Undress Me"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2163030)and there will be companion Bilbo/Thorin pieces too.

Thanks for sticking with me! 

**ETA: AUGUST 2015**

Still haven't given up, thought I feel AWFUL for making y'all wait so long. The Writing Block still holds, I'm afraid, but I'm chipping away at it.

**ETA: SEPTEMBER 2015.**

**Back in physical therapy and it's going well.did some riff writing about having Hamfast along for the journey and how if he'd been there NO ONE WOULD HAVE DIED with Tygermama. Great fun!**


	9. A First Time/A Last Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this is it. I'm calling this fic done. It has a nice stopping point. YEARS ago, sadly, I had this idea, this image that _would not let me go_ so I wrote it. Then I got trolled and then chronic pain blah blah and utterly lost my mojo. I honestly can't see this story anymore in my imagination, so it's time to let go.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: this chapter is rated E, for eeeeeexplict!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, between the last chapter and this one, Bella's been off helping out on a project of Arwen's when Arwen is put on bed rest. She's away for about six to eight weeks, all the while getting to know Thorin via email and skype and there's lots of flirting and getting closer, etc. etc. I'd also imagined a night at the pub with the boys playing and getting to know them. Anywho, back to our couple long-distance-ing. 
> 
> Bella says something about not being able to wait to be NOT muddy for a change when this job is done, and Thorin decides to take her out for a dressed-up night of dinner and dancing. 
> 
> This chapter includes some of my stage directions to myself. This product sold as is.

Thorin hears Bella’s door open as he’s locking his, and glances up with with a small grin as he pockets his keys. They meet in the middle of the hallway, and she greets him with a warm, shy smile, and his first impulse is to lean down and taste it. He stops an inch from her mouth, sweeping his gaze from the sparkling comb in her hair to her smiling, deep red lips. 

“Very glamourous this evening, Miss Baggins,” he murmurs, and even in the low light of the hallway, he can see a delicate flush of color on her cheeks. “Will a kiss muss your lipstick?” 

“Not at all, Mr. Durinson,” she replies and rises on her toes to bridge the gap between them. Thorin clasps her arms to steady her, and it’s very hard not to immediately sink into the short sweet kiss, ask for more. 

Bella makes that low soft purr of appreciation, and it’s like lighting a fire under his skin, want and belonging and love, so strong it catches him a little off guard, his breath catching slightly, a sharp inhale. 

She sways into his arms, her mouth parting beneath his, and it’s so, so…she’s so tender and _open_ tonight, generous as always, but there’s this additional edge to it, a calm, joyful well of something settled, strong, and, and..it’s something he wants to chase and revel in and if he doesn’t stop kissing her now, he won’t want….but, just one…

Thorin cradles her face in his hands, and Bells hums on a sigh, one last soft, clinging kiss, and opens her eyes slowly. They stare at one another a long, long moment, a wordless conversation of reunion and welcome. Bella smiles, rubs her cheek against his hand and kisses his palm. He leans forward and kisses her forehead. They walk to the lift hand in hand, and when the door closes, what he felt in the kiss, joy and fire, fills the space around them. He breathes in slowly, and squeezes her hand.

She leans against him, with a little nudge of her shoulder to his. “I’m so glad to see you.” 

“I’ve realized something,” he replies. “Hearing your door open…” he ducks his head and laughs at himself. “I’ve realized it’s something I look forward to hearing, that just the _sound_ of it makes my day better, because I know in a moment you’ll come through that door. Missed that.” 

“Darling man,” she murmurs, leaning against his shoulder, and gives his arm a bit of a hug. “It’s like Azog attacking when he hears a knock, but lovely.” 

“Did you just compare me to a cat? My sister’s evil white monster?” 

Bella looks up at him, eyebrow raised, dimples flashing. “Well, _clearly,_ you’re not evil.” 

“I’m glad that much is apparent.”

“Oh shush,” she grins at him, rolling her eyes. She faces forward and swings their hands cheerfully. “I must say I feel much the same way when I hear your door open, and your steps in the hall. And sometimes I hear you walking in your flat at night.” Her voice is soft, and she leans her cheek against his shoulder again. “I like it, especially when I’m falling asleep, knowing you’re near.” 

“Bella,” he breathes and shifts to wrap his arm around her. “La Belladonna.” He kisses her hair, and she cuddles close against his side with a contented sigh. 

After a comfortable silence, she says, “And of course you wouldn’t be a white monster attack cat, you’re just the opposite, sleek and majestic and subtle, with magnificent hair.” 

Thorin pulls slightly away and stares down at her, trying to control the twitching corners of his mouth. “I’m trying to decide whether or not this is disturbing, how much thought you’ve put into what kind of _cat_ I’d be.” 

“I had a long flight, my similes are not as well-built as they could be. I could make you a dog… very opposite the attack _cat_.” 

“I’m fine as human, really.” 

She tosses him an impish, appreciative look. “Yes, you certainly are.” 

Thorin is rolling his eyes, his ears throbbing, and laughing as they pass through the lobby and into the night. 

~~ DINNER AND DANCING, MAYBE. LOW KEY SMOLDERY FLIRTATION AND AT LEAST ONE BOUT OF THE SILLY GIGGLES ~~

They drift to the edge of the floor when the song ends, and Thorin is finding it hard to break away. He curls their hands close to his chest, and gently teases her hand open with his thumb. She trembles slightly when he kisses her palm, then an even more pronounced quiver when she feels his breath catch against her skin. Mid-way through a second kiss, she strokes his cheek with her thumb.

“Thorin, I think it’s time you take me home,” she says, voice low and warm. 

“My pleasure.” He offers his arm to escort her from the floor, half-mocking his own gallantry, and she gracefully slips her arm under his with a pleased grin. They make their way in comfortable silence to the coat check, and out to the street to wait for a cab. Bella shivers a little, hunching into her coat, and he curls her close. She tips her head against his shoulder and he feels her gaze focused on him. When he meets her eyes, the air fairly crackles.

Thorin is reminded of her kisses in the hallway, that joyful conviction, surety, and her gaze is….twice that. Twice as loving and sure, and Bella, Bella always reads him so well, and when she sees he understands, her breath catches. He cups her precious face in one hand, tries to let her see that he is just as sure of her, the words crowding behind his lips to tell her, so much easier when he had the distance of writing. 

She takes his hand, tangles it in hers between them, and says in that lovely low tone again, “And I’d like you to stay with me tonight.” 

He has to swallow hard before he can speak. “I would like that very much,” Thorin manages, and tucks her closer to his side, because he can not bear to let her go, now, not even to raise his arm to hail a cab, can barely stand to look anywhere but into her lovely face. He does, eventually, retrieve one hand, hold it aloft and hope the taxi gods are feeling generous.

She smiles up at him, radiant, serene, and as a cab slides up the curb to them, Thorin cups her cheek again and kisses her - not as long as he would like - and bends to open the door. 

Bella slides in and is waiting for him with a smile. Thorin tears his eyes away from her long enough to give the cabbie directions, then slides closer. He takes her hand, curls it in his, warms it with his breath, then opens his coat to tuck it inside, over his heart. Smiling, Bella slides into his arms, burrowing a little into his coat. 

“I was about to say we _must_ find you some gloves, but if this is the alternative…..” 

She huffs a little laugh and tips her face up for a kiss, and Thorin fights not to sink into her. The gleam in her eyes, after, tells him she noticed. He brushes his nose against hers in a teasing nuzzle. Bella returns the gesture, just brushing over his lips with hers, and that, just that tiny thing, that tiny glancing touch, and he bites back a groan, wanting to lean forward and devour her mouth. 

She reaches up to touch his face, gently pulling him in for a soft, quick kiss. “Soon,” she whispers. 

“Yes,” he manages to reply, his voice ground down next to nothing, and curls her close, his cheek resting against her hair. 

Mechanically, he pays the cabbie and leaves the car, nods to the night doorman, and then Bella is waiting for him; rose-scented and luminous, her hair gleaming under the lights, leaning against the lift wall, one hand keeping the doors from closing. Thorin boxes her in, hands beside her head as the lift doors shut. 

She raises one brow and gives him a slow appreciative once over, her eyes bright with challenge. The corner of her mouth curls up, and Thorin leans in further, closer, rests an elbow on the wall, strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and her eyes flutter shut. Her trembling breath caresses his cheek. 

When her eyes open they are wide, dark, and her gaze is deeply, instantly affecting. “Kiss me,” she whispers.

Thorin leans in, a breath away from her mouth, staring. “I don’t dare.” He nuzzles his nose against her cheek, her temple. He can feel her quiver, body tight with anticipation.

Bella tilts her head back, offering, and he sweeps nose and lips up the long line of her throat to linger and stroke just under her ear. She makes an affectionate whine of frustration, and he stops, presses against her just enough to keep her still, and holds them there, the only movement their breath, and the quickening thrum of her pulse against his lips. Bella shivers and gasps, a yearning sound caught in her throat that makes Thorin swallow hard, and his fingers curl into his palms, longing to touch. He waits. 

One heartbeat, two, and Bella makes a plaintive sound, tilts her chin just a bit more, and Thorin nuzzles that little spot under her ear, kisses it, gentle and slow, then bites softly, his teeth just barely grazing her skin, and she melts under his touch with a throaty moan. 

“Thorin, please….” Quickly, he undoes the belt of her coat, opens it, slides his hands inside and she sighs with something like relief. He runs his hands over her curves from thigh to just under her arms, and slowly, very slowly, strokes the sides of her breasts with his thumbs; a question. 

“Yes,” she breathes, lips parted and gasping, and he strokes over her breasts with the same deliberate care, letting out a harsh pant himself to feel her nipples already rock hard through the dress. Thorin lingers there, caressing her, learning the shape of them with his fingers, his palms, moving with as much restraint as he possesses, so that it’s just as much the anticipation of touch that winds her tight, that catches the breath in her throat.

Bella trembles, and makes a soft, longing cry. He gathers her in, leans against her, pressing her to the wall, and murmurs into her ear, “If I kissed you now, I would not want to stop.” 

“Right,” Bella replies shakily, and arches into him as she winds her arms around his neck. “I understand,” she murmurs, in mock earnest as she shifts into a slow, delicious slide. Thorin catches her rhythm, grinding lightly against her, not at all hiding how she affects him, and she half-laughs, half-gasps, shaking, her hands clutching his shoulders to keep him close. He nuzzles her cheek and she turns her face to his, seeking his mouth, and he gives her lower lip a short nibble. 

“You like this,” he says, low and dark, fitting his hips better to hers. Bella hums, a throaty curl of a groan, dreamy and carnal, and moves with him. 

“Oh yes,” she agrees. And if he wasn’t hard before, that hitch and ache in her voice would do it. 

“Overwhelming, in the best, best, way… I feel…. oh, I feel.” This time the slide is just right, because the sound she makes...oh the sound….

Thorin leans into to take her mouth, helpless to do anything else, and is millimeters away from his goal when the lift stops, and the door creaks open. Bella’s head thunks against the wall, and she laughs.

Thorin casts an eye out into the hallway to make sure they weren’t putting on a show for anyone, and puts his hand on the lift door to keep it from closing. 

“You feel...how?” he asks, leans back a bit to look into her face, but keeps her pressed against the wall with his hips. He rubs his knuckles against her soft cheek, her jaw, and down until he can stroke them over the upper slope of her breasts. Bella’s eyelashes flutter shut as she sighs. Thorin opens his hand and strokes her skin, feather-light, following the contours of her neckline with the pads of his fingers. She arches, insistent, and he leans down to kiss along the edge of her jaw. 

“Tell me, Bella.” 

She shivers. “Optimistic to believe I can talk while you touch me like this….”

He nips the skin under her ear and feels her knees buckle. He steadies her with hands and hips and she mewls softly, her hands clutching at his coat. 

“Thorin,” she whispers. “While I can still walk…” 

He pulls away and kisses her forehead. “You have an excellent point.” 

“Mmm,” she says dreamily, and pulls him into a hug.

“Mmm,” he agrees, smiling against her hair. “This isn’t walking.” 

“Right,” Bella drawls very slowly. “Right. Also you have to, um...let me go.” 

“Ah. Sorry,” he reluctantly steps back, tugs his coat around him in case Dis or Balin happen to suddenly wander out of their flats, and looking down to see her ready, lifts his hand away from  
the door and catches her hand. Bella smiles up at him as she laces their fingers together. 

“So,” Thorin asks softly, bumping his shoulder against hers, and has to clear his throat. “I would apologize for going a bit caveman, but…” 

Bella’s laugh is low and absolutely carnal. “Mmmmmm. Like I said,” she replies, her voice husky. “You going a bit caveman was overwhelming in the best way.” She bumps his shoulder back and squeezes his hand. “Makes me feel….hmmmm...” 

She rummages in her pocket for her keys, and by the time she has them, Thorin is at her back, joy singing in his veins, and slides an arm around her waist, pulling her into the curve of his body. He brushes her hair to the side and kisses her nape, and then, to be thorough, begins to work his way down her neck.

The keys jangle as they hit the floor, and Bella snorts, amused. Thorin presses his smile against her shoulder, and she reaches back to tousle his hair. 

“Menace,” she says fondly. “Let me get my keys.” 

“If you must.” He backs off and with a half-exasperated glance at him, she opens the door to her flat and slides inside, already shedding her coat. She’s left a lamp on, and the room is lit with a cozy glow. 

Thorin tosses his overcoat and jacket on the sofa, gently grabs Bella and crowds her against the nearest wall. 

“You were saying?” 

Grinning, she wiggles happily and strokes the flat of her hands up and down his chest. “Rather kiss-drunk, though we’ve barely....and you feel that way too, don’t you?”

“Mmm.” 

She looks at him from underneath her lashes, frank and so beautiful. “I _love_ the feel of being surrounded by you…” And he must kiss her. Bella meets his intensity with a pleased growl, and hooks her calf around his leg, allowing her to inch her way up his body. 

Thorin has a growl of his own at that, and shifts to press his thigh between hers. As he moves his leg up, aiming to press against her, the slick slide of her tights gives way to.... He moves his leg again, and yes, something…. 

A theory strikes him that has him gasping against her mouth, running a hand over the leg she has curled over his, stroking up….and she is not wearing seamed tights, but _stockings_ , a satin band at the top, and his fingers are on the snap that attaches them to her garter belt. He groans appreciatively, tracing a finger over her bared skin. 

“La Bella. La Bella Belladonna,” he whispers against her mouth. This time he is the one shaking, his hands trembling against her. “Not your usual...?” His lips barely brush hers as he speaks. Her breath catches.

“No.” 

“Bella, _you planned_ to end here tonight,” his voice is as rough as his breathing. He kisses the edge of her mouth slowly, traces the smooth skin of her thigh with equal care.

“An definite option,” she breathes, a hitch in her voice. “You like?” 

“I want,” he punctuates his words with kisses down her throat. “To take. Your lingerie. Off. With my teeth,” he growls and Bella shivers all over, arches her neck to give him more room. He gets an arm between her and the wall, urging her closer. Bella rolls her hips slowly, riding his leg, and he moves with her, watching her eyes all the while. When her head goes back and she cries out, panting, shaking in his arms, he kisses her, he has to kiss her when she trembles like this, their ragged breathing loud in his ears. 

“Thorin,” she whispers, her hands in his hair. “Thorin.” 

“Bella.” He leans back and cups her cheek, ghosts his thumb under her lush lower lip. She sighs slightly at his touch and leans into his hand. 

“We haven’t talked about -” 

“I have condoms,” she says, blinking her way to clarity. “And I’m on the pill.” 

“I have some too...” 

“Almost stored mine in a lunchbox,” she murmurs with an impish smile. 

He leans forward and gives her a laughing, nipping kiss. “You did not.” 

“I did. I’m looking for just the right one, the right lunchbox. And speaking of the right one…” she smoothes her hands down his chest, suddenly shy. “I got tested, I’m clean…” 

“Me too. But...” He leans in to confess in her ear. “Tonight I think I’ll need the extra time a condom will give me.”

“Thorin,” she whimpers, melting against him. He presses his mouth just under her ear. 

“You,” he murmurs against her skin, the scent of summer roses, spice and her filling his senses. “You, in this dress, wearing god knows what confections under it...I’m going to need all the help I can get. You are…..” He leans back and rests his forehead against hers. “So beautiful. So much.” His voice cracks when he continues. “You mean so much to me already.” 

“So do you,” she says, her voice shaking and thick. “I can’t explain it, I….” She goes tense under his hands and shifts to stand on both feet. 

“Shhhhh, shhhhh.” he whispers, moving them to a comfortable hug. “I know. It doesn’t matter.” She relaxes a bit in his arms and he holds her a moment, rocking back and forth slightly. She sighs, the tension leaving her, and rubs her cheek against his chest. He kisses her forehead. “Believe me, I know. You implied something about ‘the right one’; you have to know you are that for me.”

“I do. I do, love.” Bella leans back to look up at him, radiant and tender. “I missed you so much.” She pushes against his chest lightly, and he backs away, his hands reluctant to leave her. 

She walks past him, one hand trailing over his chest, gives his tie a cheeky tug, then pivoting gracefully, extends a hand. 

“Come to bed, my darling man.” 

Thorin takes her hand to kiss the palm, which makes her sigh and smile and come close again to thread her hand in the hair at his nape and pull him down for a kiss, lush and sweet. 

“The more you touch me, the harder it’ll be to let you go,” he murmurs. 

“I’ll bear that in mind,” she replies, pleased. “Here,” she adds softly, plucking his hands off her waist and keeping hold of them as she backs toward her room, pulling him along in her wake. 

A certain hush falls around them as they pass the threshold, the now familiar thick, sweet hush of connection, anticipation. Bella lets him go to light the candles she keeps on the dresser and bedside table. Thorin takes off his tie and sits on a small chair to slip off his shoes and socks. She comes to him, reaching for the studs on his cuffs, and then the buttons of his shirt, watching his eyes all the while. 

He stands and draws the comb out of her hair while she works, and runs his hands through it to let it fan over her shoulders. 

“Mmmm,” she hums appreciatively, skimming her hands through his chest hair. “Beautiful darling man,” she adds, stepping closer to place a kiss on his breastbone, pulls his shirt tails out of his trousers, and pushes the shirt off his shoulders. Thorin lets it fall, cups her face to draw her into a kiss, and gasps harshly against her mouth when she palms him briefly on her way to his belt buckle. 

When her hand creeps back to the button on his trousers, he stops her. 

“Miss Baggins,” he teases sternly, casting an eye at her very clothed self. “You have me at a disadvantage.” 

“So terribly sorry,” she says, not sorry at all, stroking his arms, his chest, and then stands in the circle of his arms, one hand coming ‘round to pull her hair over her shoulder. “Would this help?” she asks, bending her head for him to find the top of her zipper easily. 

“It’s a start,” Thorin murmurs, watching her face, her deeply familiar tender, trusting expression as he draws the zipper down her back. He strokes over her hips, dips down to palm the curve of her bottom slowly when the zipper ends, pulling her flush against him as he caresses her, then inside the dress, strokes up her spine, and peels the dress away from her. She steps back slightly, letting the dress slide down her arms to pool on the floor. She reaches a hand out, and while he steadies her, she ducks her head with shy grace, and steps out of the pile of fabric. 

“Oh dear god,” he rasps, finally _looking_ and nearly choking on air. “Bella.” 

In sheer black lace and satin against rose-pale skin, she is glorious, glowing in the candlelight. She bites her lip, ducks her head shyly again, pleased, and he comes close, brings his thumb up to her lush mouth, and leans in to kiss and soothe the bitten place. 

“You look…” he murmurs, running his hands over her, her skin like silk. 

“Mmm? She asks, pulling away to look at him. 

“Glorious,” he says, sliding his hand from her shoulder to her cheek. “Gorgeous. _Edible.”_ He holds her at arms length to admire her, and she shakes her head at him, laughing and blushing.

“I have to confess,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, reeling her in to ghost his fingers across the slope of her breast, weigh the sweet curve of one in his hand, and then down her waist to tease at the edge of her garter belt. “Where to _start?_ ” 

Bella looks up at him, her eyes dancing. “Could stand to lose these shoes.” 

“Right.” So he starts by kissing her, kissing her as deeply as he’s wanted to all evening, waiting to feel her melt against him, then begins a path of slow kisses down her body, her neck, her collarbone, between her breasts. He finds the rose pink of her nipples shifting under sheer black lace with every breath far too much temptation not to linger. Her hands curl into his hair, tangle at his nape when he does, as he brushes his lips over the generous curve, and he lets himself pull at her nipple with his mouth through the lace. 

Bella makes a soft, longing sound, and when he pulls back to blow cool air on her, her fingers tighten in his hair, her breath hitching. He switches sides to lavish the same amount of care on each, and slides his hand, resting on her hip, up her waist to thumb her nipple through the wet lace while he works on the other with his mouth. 

She breathes his name, and he kisses between her breasts again, his thumbs sweeping over her taut nipples as he kisses his way down her stomach to her waist, kisses over the lace of the garter belt and down, and and oh, oh god….he can smell her, smell how much she.... 

Thorin breathes out in a harsh pant, rests his head against her belly a moment to blink his way through every drop of blood he has speeding to his cock. While he collects himself, he stokes Bella’s outer thighs, her hips, slides around to cup and caress the plush curves of her bottom, left half bare by her knickers. 

He’ll want to see _that_ lovely sight but can wait, can most definitely wait when he has….he nuzzles the dark satin triangle before him, breathing her in, and then his control snaps for a moment, he fills his hands with her gorgeous arse, and presses his mouth, hard, against her, showing her a bit of what he wants to do with lips and tongue. 

Bella moans, leaning into him for balance, her hips stuttering in tiny, helpless pulses. The strip of satin between her legs is soaked, her rich juices wetting the tops of her thighs, and he groans, aching at the first taste of her and has to pull himself away, to press his forehead against her belly again, getting his breath. 

“I had a plan. To go slowly,” he mutters. “Inch every bit of this off until we were both…” Bella bends over and kisses the top of his head. 

“Plan B?” she asks, her voice thready. 

“Yes, please,” he growls, presses his mouth to her again, works his tongue against the satin, trying to get under it, get to _her_ , while his hands fly to unhook her stockings and slide them down her trembling legs. She manages to unhook the garter belt and pulls it up and away. Thorin hums his approval, still busy.

“Knees. About to go,” she gasps at him, clutching at his shoulder. He has to break away to help her step out of her shoes and stockings, keeping her steady. She holds his hands as she backs toward the bed, and when she sits, he goes to her, kneeling between her legs, to kiss and kiss her. Kiss her until her breath is ragged and she trembles again, kiss her until she makes those soft little sounds of want. She wraps her legs around him as he feasts on her mouth, pulling him closer. 

He strokes her thighs, her hips, the edges of those fantastic knickers, and up her waist to tease at the lace covering her breasts, but he keeps coming back to those knickers, wanting to wind her tight and taste….. 

“Bella, La Bella, I...I need, I want to...” he says between kisses. 

“Whatever it is, yes,” she sighs into his mouth. 

“Wait,” he says, pulling back a moment, his manners surfacing. “Bella…”

She puts her fingers over his mouth. “Darling man, plan B is going _really well._ ” 

“Good,” Thorin sighs, pressing a kiss to those fingers, then her palm, then using her hand to wind her arm around his neck, he pulls her close. After another kiss, he motions with his chin up toward her pillows. “Up you go, then.” 

Bella bites at his mouth as she pulls away,a clear encouragement to hurry, and pushes herself up the bed. Thorin stands and strips out of his clothes, remembering at the final moment to fish his condoms out and drop them within easy reach. She watches him, heavy lidded and lush, his earth goddess, hands fisted in the quilt, hips pressing against the bed, waiting. She raises an arm and eases one bra strap off her shoulder, and reaches around to….

“No,” shoots out of his mouth. Bella raises her brows. 

“Mine,” he says more softly, crawling up the bed to her. “To take off?” he requests with a gentle kiss. “Please.” 

She strokes his cheek, runs her fingers through his hair to urge him closer. “Was that what you needed?” 

“No,” he breathes, falling into a kiss. He settles over her, skimming just over her body, teasing them both with little glancing, barely-there thrusts, and she mewls against his mouth, arching up for more contact. He lets himself grind lightly against her once, twice, but knows if he settles into the cradle of her hips, feels her, all of her, underneath him, he will not want to leave. 

“Gorgeous, glorious,” he tells her, stuck on the words because she is, she is so very... He tears himself away from her mouth to nip that place under her ear that makes her shiver. “What I need is to _taste_ , Belladonna,” he says in her ear, voice rasping low. “Drink deep and feel you come with my tongue inside you.” 

She keens, longing made harsh and guttural, bucking beneath him, the satin of her knickers brushing against his cock, not enough, so not enough for either of them. 

“That a yes, then?” She is so beautiful like this, flushed with passion, glowing. He can’t help but stare. 

“Oh god yes,” she groans, and pulls him into a devouring kiss Once she lets him go, he slides her bra straps down her arms as he mouths at her breasts through the lace. Bella sighs, her hand gentle in his hair, inviting him to linger. Thorin does, inhales deeply the perfume she’d placed in the valley between, then rolls one pebbled nipple between his lips. She sighs again, a little moan at the end of it, her hips pulsing against the bed. 

“Later,” he begins, murmuring into her skin as he rolls her slightly to pop the clasp one-handed. She snorts, tugging at his hair. 

“Show off,” she says breathlessly, and he hums, acknowledging it with a kiss along the pale skin of her breast right at the edge of the lace covering it, then traces that edge with his tongue as he brushes it away, frames the lush lower curve in his hand and sets his mouth to her, sucking soft and wet. She arches against him, sighing. 

“Later,” Thorin begins again, pulling the bra away to savor the other breast while he fills his hand with the first. “I’ll ….” He loses the thread a moment, her soft hands in his hair, her soft skin under his hands, his tongue, her scent heady and warm. He pulls her tight against him, elbows framing her hips, and sinks against her a moment, lets his weight push against her. 

“I wonder if I can get you to come for me from just this,” he says into her skin and suckles hungrily.

“Thorin,” she cries, softly urgent, rolling like a wave beneath him, “Thorin, please.” 

“Yes.” One last kiss between her breasts and he moves down, skimming her knickers down her legs. She lifts her hips to help him, then he slides his arms under her legs and pulls her close. 

He hums, appreciative, and nuzzles through sweet trimmed curls, spreading her with his thumbs to find her clit, and gives it a slow, open-mouthed kiss.

“Oh, oh _my_ ,” she moans, and melts against his mouth, so he does it again, working his tongue against her slick-smooth swollen folds. 

“Hmm,” he muses, pulling away. “Pillow?” 

“Okay,” she says, voice quavering, and flings one hand behind her, seeking. While he waits, he kisses the inside of her thigh and seals his mouth on her skin to lap the juices from the crease of her leg. 

“Thorin,” she whispers, and bops him lightly on the head with a pillow. He bursts out laughing, smothering it against her skin. 

“Shut up,” she laughs, part way between embarrassed and indignant. He lifts his head, grinning, and she wobbles it at him, threatening another hit. “I have loss of fine motor functions!” she complains.

“So sorry,” he replies, all concern, and leans back to press another kiss against her clit, tongue never still. She gasps, her hips moving in tiny pulses. 

“Up,” he says, patting her hip. Shakily sighing, she wavers up and he gets the pillow underneath her, then slides his arms under her legs, hands cradling her, and angles her closer. He sets his mouth to her again. “Much better.” 

“Oh good,” Bella says, her voice breaking, and then groaning as he begins in earnest. 

He immerses himself in the textures, all the different shades of her skin, the rich, savory taste of her, and the music of her pleasure-soaked sounds. 

Thorin pays attention to her tells, and first are the soft sighs and purrs of approval when they find a slow, gentle rhythm. These small sounds of want are deeply, happily familiar, and he hums against her folds. He gets a shivering, hitching gasp in response as she presses closer, he smiles to himself; something new. He does it again, and this time gets a low, happy groan. 

Bella’s almost melted into the bed, spread across the quilt abandoned to pleasure, her body relaxed under his hands, offering herself fully, generously. The _trust_ she has in him, has had from the very beginning, but this easy, ardent, so very intimate trust to put herself in his hands and let go, let Thorin begin this next step (a huge one) in their relationship; it’s humbling. A trust he very much wants to be worthy of and to match.

It’s so very Bella, this generosity, she’s generous and warm with everyone, but with him…he thinks of her kisses, her manner tonight, the radiant, serene joy that’s been in every touch, every kiss, every glance she’s sent his way. Something has settled for her while she was out of town, and she is more sure of herself, of him. 

Belonging and desire, affection and trust, it’s all been there, with the probability of more almost guaranteed. But now that it’s here, now that he can _feel_ through her kisses, her touch, such deep trust, he is left gasping and shaken with gratitude, with the knowledge that the flimsiest of circumstances brought them together. He could have seen her, that brilliant flash of life on a grey day, and only had that one delicious moment of connection. He could have so easily never had this, never had her in his life. And that thought is very nearly….

Thorin has to take a deep breath, scatter shaky kisses on her inner thighs, stroke her hips and belly before pressing his mouth to her once more, kissing her here as ardently and seriously as he’d kiss her lips, trying to tell her, show her, his own deeply settled joy. 

“Oh my love,” Bella murmurs, and Thorin’s heart does a pleasant little flip. 

“Yours, La Bella, very much yours,” he replies, pressing a slow kiss to her thigh. She breathes his name, and Thorin looks up at her, at her beautiful flushed face, her glowing skin, and the love so very clear in her gaze. He strokes her waist, her belly, her hips, words deserting him. 

Bella reaches out to put her hand over his, clasp it as she says, voice hoarse with emotion. “And I am very much yours.” She strokes his back and side with her foot, an affectionate gesture so _her_ that he grins and kisses her thigh again before snugging her close, before delving deep once more. 

“Darling, lovely man,” she sighs, voice still a little shaky, breathes deeply and arches her whole body in a graceful, rolling wave, and then a tiny, hitched gasp just as she settles, as Thorin caresses her clit, light, firm strokes with the tip of his thumb. 

Her legs tense, her hips still and she pants out a sweet, soft, nearly cooing sound, as her pleasure builds, a sound that grows warmer and wanton, earthy and guttural when he changes to a firmer stroke, as she wants more, _now_. Thorin encourages her to move again and Bella agrees with a deep approving hum. 

Together, they fall into a rhythm that - all at once - seems to undo her. She cries out and pushes right into his face, no longer a polite, sweet slide, but demanding. Thorin growls his encouragement, pulling her tight against his mouth and keeps that pace, giving her no quarter, no time to back down. He loves the feeling of Bella’s thighs trembling as she shudders with pleasure, and better still, the way she says his name between increasingly louder cries. 

Thorin can feel her winding tight, her molten, liquid core, her clit throbbing against his thumb as he brushes it, works it. He pushes in, deep as he can inside her, and strokes her inside and out, his jaw aching but there, oh there, oh, oh, delicious, and she screams, joyful, triumphant, bucking against his face, clenching around his tongue, there, there, glorious, gorgeous. Bella. His Bella.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathes, still quivering, and Thorin hums, one hand stretching across her belly as he gentles his mouth, seeing her through several lovely shudders. She groans, deep in her chest, and arches against him, a tremble in her hips, and he brings her through another climax, lazy and sweet, or so he thought, until she cries out again, voice aching, hips snapping down, asking for more, and faster, and he hangs on and dives back in, this time mouth sealed over her clit, chasing her cries.

Bella moans, deep in her chest and rising in pitch as she arches against his mouth, tilting her hips, just so, offering, begging. He is lost in her again, focused on every breath, every sound, every shift and roll of her body in his hands, the joy of watching, hearing, tasting, _feeling_ her come apart under his mouth. 

And then her clit throbs against Thorin’s tongue, and his own arousal, pushed aside to enjoy Bella’s, comes roaring back and he groans through a wave of desire so strong he’s shaking with it. 

“Thorin, oh god, you….you….” She’s almost there, he can feel it, hear it. He doesn’t answer, but keeps his mouth where it is and flutters his tongue. Bella shatters on a sharp cry that goes on and on, and Thorin opens his eyes to see it, has to, has to see her and when he opens his eyes, she...she is beyond beautiful, her head thrown back, hair spread across the pillows, earth goddess in ecstasy. 

She is flushed and luminous in the candlelight, her hands fisted in the quilt as if to keep herself grounded, and her body is a series of glorious, graceful arches. He can’t see her whole face, he wishes he...but her head is tipped so far, the lovely lines of her throat exposed in such a gesture of elemental trust and abandon...to touch her and have her respond so….

“Bella,” he half-groans as he presses his cock against the bed, and tries to force himself still to care for her, soften his mouth, gentle her through the aftershocks. It’s more difficult than it should be, because the feel of her in his hands, the taste of her, the sheer glory of her filling his senses…. add the searing image of her bliss, and he is hanging on to his control by a thread. 

Her trembling slows, and she sighs, melting into the bed. He takes a deep breath and, trying to gather his wits, rests his head on her thigh. 

“Thorin,” she breathes, half-panting still. A sweetly clumsy hand slides into his hair. “Darling man, come here.” 

Wiping his face on his arm, he goes to her, settles above her, braced on his knees and elbows. She traces gentle fingers down the side of his face, ghosts them over his lips. 

“Hi,” Bella whispers, shy and radiant. 

“Hi.” 

“That was….” Eyes wide, she shakes her head. “That was….” 

“Really, now.” Thorin can’t help the grin. 

“Mmmhmmm,” she tips her chin for a kiss and he offers a soft, short one, but she wraps her legs around his waist and draws him close. He rocks against her slowly, sliding through her slick folds, and she makes an approving, carnal hum, and that fast, he’s close to desperate again, Bella following right after him. 

Thorin settles a bit more of his weight against her, still rolling his hips, and she breaks away from the kiss, keening. Thorin backs off, nudges her cheek with his nose.

“Too sensitive?” 

“No.” She arches up, seeking more contact, and bites at his mouth. “Need you. All of you.” 

He dives in for a blistering kiss, then presses his forehead against hers. “Let me...the…” 

She unwinds her legs and lets him go. “Hurry,” she says, with another biting kiss. 

Thorin takes deep breaths, centering, calming himself a bit as he rolls a condom on. Bella strokes his thigh with her calf. He smiles down at her. 

“And where would you like me, Miss Baggins?” 

“Oh, I think I have you just where I want you, Mr. Durinson.” She arches an elegant brow, though the corners of her mouth twitch with laughter. 

“Cheeky,” Thorin murmurs, propping himself above her for a kiss. He darts one to her nose as well. “Like this?” 

“Love the feeling of being surrounded by you,” she reminds him, voice soft, eyes wide and dark. She winds her arms around his neck and offers her mouth again. “So I would like to actually _be_ surrounded...” she whispers as he bends to kiss her. She arches and he slides one hand under her back, the other cupping the side of her face as he settles between her legs.

He gathers her in as much as he can, cradling her in one arm as he kisses her, pressing her into the bed with his hips. Bella hums and he urges her to wrap one leg around his waist as he reaches between them. She shudders beneath him, groaning happily when he strokes through her folds with the head of his cock, then tilts her hips just so and he’s an inch or more inside her. 

Thorin pulls back slightly to look into her eyes, and hers are sparkling with mischief. 

“In a hurry?” 

She threads a hand in his hair, slowly wraps her free leg around him and tugs him closer, her heels at the small of his back, effectively working him deeper. 

“No,” Bella drawls softly, and tightens her legs and inner muscles, sheathing him fully inside and making a play for keeping him there. Thorin fights for his eyes not to roll back in his head. 

“Good to know,” he says against her mouth, and pulls out as slowly as he can bear to move. She groans, pleased, catching his rhythm, and each time he bottoms out inside her, she gives him a squeeze of welcome. 

He moves inside her slow, shallow, and every few thrusts, twists a bit and grinds against her clit, and each time she pants against his mouth. A few more thrusts and she’s shuddering, trembling beneath him. Soon they glide easily together, slick with sweat, the heat between them building, and Thorin wipes his forehead on his arm so he won’t drip onto her face. 

When he looks down at her, her face is alight with joy and so much passion, he bends to press his smile to hers. She nips at his mouth, hums as she licks her way inside, and as always, her kisses pull him down and down…..

“More,” she breaks their kiss to demand, and apparently her inner muscles are stronger than originally advertised, because….

“Bella,” he groans, his hips stuttering against hers. 

He bends down to kiss her, and she bites his lower lip and purrs He bites back and carefully tries a deeper thrust, making sure, and she makes a sound of pure, carnal pleasure, resettling arms and legs and bucks up into him, insistent. He pulls out with excruciating slowness, grinning against her mouth, hardly able to believe he’s got the control to do this, pulls all but a few millimeters out and holds for just a breath, two, three, just hovers there, waiting and….

“Gorgeous, contrary bastard,” she growls, half-snarling, half-laughing and plants her feet against the bed. Thorin slams home, pushing her partway up the quilt. 

“Oh god yes that,” she breathes, joy and laughter bubbling out of her as she wraps her legs around him again. “Please, love. Hurry.” 

Thorin stills again, his eyebrows raised in challenge, and she laughs, deep in her chest, and does her best to rub herself against him as enticingly as possible, her femme fatale act marred slightly by the occasional giggle. Thorin struggles to remain impassive until she does something with her tongue, his ear and a long, sinuous glide, and he groans as he turns to kiss her, half-laughing into her mouth as he tries that deep thrust she seemed to like before. 

“Finally,” she gasps. “Darling obstinate man.” 

“Miss Baggins, I must protest, this is me being quite cooperative.” 

“I shall endeavor to, oh god, Thorin, yes please, love, that, more of that….” 

Thorin gives her everything she asks for, capturing her mouth with his and keeping his thrusts deep and fast. Soon, she’s shuddering and buckling beneath him, her cries increasing in pitch, he can feel her winding tight, tight, and he is hanging on with teeth and toenails for her to get there before he does. 

One particularly deep thrust and their kiss breaks apart. Thorin tucks his cheek against hers and swivels his hips, grinding against her, and Bella’s moan comes from low in her chest, low and rising. He tries the same twisting thrust, again, again and again. 

“Thorin,” she pants, hands clumsily stroking his hair, his cheek. “You...I…are you...” 

“Yes. Very.” 

She nudges at him until she can find his mouth. “Well, come on, then,” she growls happily, and bites his mouth, _squeezes_...and Thorin loses his mind a little. He’s got enough higher brain functions to know to keep up the grinding rhythm of his hips as they crash together, and in very short order, Bella is roaring out her joy, coming around him again and again. He fights his instincts and tries slow to down, to draw it out for her, but she tightens her legs and snarls, “ _Don’t._ ”

Thorin tucks his cheek next to hers and obeys, and a moment or two later, his own orgasm fast approaching the tipping point, and says, “Bella,” not really knowing what he’s asking, but she speeds up, clenches around him, and in one twisting thrust, two, it is his turn to roar, white lights exploding behind his eyes, and he’s soaring. 

And Bella is coming again right after him, shuddering so hard, so hard, but hanging onto him, arms and legs and inner _oh my god_ , pulsing around him, and he’s shuddering to the end of one of the best, if not _the_ best.….it’s as if she couldn’t bear to do this without holding him as tightly as she….without _them_ being as close as they can be, glorious, gorgeous, yes…..he wants this, so wants this, please let him keep this, please let her stay…

“Bella. Bella.” He stays wrapped up in her until he can breathe and see again, then moves to give her a short kiss, thinking she’s held his weight long enough. She answers with a little flicker of her tongue, asking, and when he lets her in, she just melts underneath him, her legs slipping down and falling to the bed, her hands stroking his hair, his shoulders, and there is no where else he’d rather be.

He shifts a little, rolls her enough to slide away the pillow her hips have been on this whole time, and still inside her, he curls her close for a few long, languid kisses. Breaking away to look at her, he brushes her hair off her face, shifts the sweat-dampened tresses behind her shoulders, trails gentle fingers down her neck, her arm. She watches him, expression joyful, serious, tender. 

“Hullo,” is all he can manage, his heart so full. 

“Hullo,” she whispers back, beaming, and stretches further into his arms. 

“Too heavy?” He shifts his weight and she shifts him right back. She stretches again and makes many appreciative noises. 

“Good lord, Bella,” he rumbles and nips at her mouth. “If I hadn’t just had the shag of a lifetime…”

“Of a _lifetime_ ,” she agrees, and humming, kisses him. “You were saying?” 

“Honestly, I have no idea. I think it had to do with you all…” he kisses her between words. “Naked. And slippery.” 

“Mmmm,” she replies. 

“Good?” Thorin just growls and kisses her more deeply. Bella laughs into the kiss. 

“Mmmm,” he says just as he’s pulling away from the kiss. “Let me go, that I might come back quickly?” 

“Well, when you put it that way….” When he doesn’t budge, she raises her eyebrows.  
Truth be told, the words are crowding so insistently behind his teeth…. 

One last kiss, and he heads to the bathroom to clean up, get rid of the condom. He finds an unopened toothbrush, towel and flannel beside the sink,and huffs out a laugh at her very thorough planning. 

When he returns to her room, Bella’s turned down the covers and is standing by the dresser snuffing out a few of the candles, still gloriously naked. He sidles up behind her and gives her a hug. Upon consideration, he finds he must kiss her neck and shoulder, and sweeps her hair to the side.

“Hello darling man,” she purrs, one hand coming behind her to thread into his hair. He can’t help but stroke up her waist to cup her breast briefly, then up her throat to the edge of her jaw to gently encourage her to turn around. When she does, he kisses her, and presses his forehead against hers. 

“Thank you for the toothbrush and such,” he murmurs. 

“If this is the thanks I get, do let me go put out a few more things.” She presses up on her toes for another kiss.

“Still want me to stay?” 

Bella gives him a searching look, then smiles. “I’ll trip you right back into that bed if I have to,” she says, nipping at his mouth, then settling on her heels. She peers up into his face. “I very much want you to stay. Of course I do.” 

“Of course I’d very much like to.” 

“All right then.” She tilts her chin for a kiss. “I’ll be right back.” He lets her go, though his hands are very reluctant to leave her. 

He snuffs out all but a few candles on her bedside table, safe in their glass containers, picks up their scattered clothing, finally draping everything over the small chair, and slips under the covers on the far side of the bed. 

Thorin’s breath catches when Bella returns, still beautifully naked, perhaps even more so in the deeper shadows of the room. It is still light enough - or perhaps he knows her well enough - that he can see her blush. 

“You’ve got that look on your face again,” she murmurs, sliding into bed, her head pillowed next to his. Thorin turns on his side and sketches a hand down her hair, over the curve of her shoulder, down her waist, and tugs her a little closer. 

He nudges his nose against hers and says softly. “You’re always beautiful to me, but you, naked in candlelight?” He sweeps his hand back up from her waist to stroke her cheek. “It’s a sight to remember.” He kisses her softly. “Perhaps paint.” 

“How many ideas is that, now?” she teases, rolling her eyes and blushing just a little bit more. 

“Hmmmm,” he pretends to think. “Six, maybe? Quite the challenge.” 

She watches his eyes as she thinks. “Wait, I only know about four….” 

“This would be six,” he tells her, tracing the curves of her face from temple to jaw. “Oils. The light of you in the shadows.” Her breath hitches and she catches his mouth for a kiss, full and sweet.

“How you put that, Mr. Durinson,” she whispers, eyes wide in wonder. 

“It’s quite true, you are light and life and color to me….” She makes an utterly charming sound, shy, touched and pleased, and for that he has to kiss her for quite a bit. 

“Also, laughter and hedgehogs…” 

Bella wiggles, fluttering her legs playfully, kicking him in the shins. “I am _not_ a hedgehog.” 

Thorin tilts his head, admitting it. “Though you were once a hedgehog burglar.” 

“True, true.” This time, she traces his face with her fingertips. “What is painting five?” 

“Not paint. Charcoal. You, candlelit, in that glorious lingerie. I can almost see how fast I’d have to draw it, how rough the strokes…” 

She frowns. “Why?” 

He raises his eyebrows at her. “It would be _extremely_ hard not to touch you, dressed like that. Hard enough on your average day, but wearing that…knowing when I saw it first. Knowing how it felt to see you...” 

She swallows hard. “I seem to recall. And I…” Her breath speeds up, roughens, and her blush deepens. Thorin strokes her hair, nudges her nose with his, and when their eyes meet, hers are hazy.

“Whatever are you thinking, Miss Baggins?” 

She shivers a little. “Of you leaving charcoal fingerprints all over my skin, Mr…”

Thorin takes her mouth before she can finish his name, and she trembles again, melting soft in his arms, her breath caught on a half-moan. He sweeps a hand down her back, pulls her close, and shifts them until she’s half-sprawled across his chest. He threads his fingers in her hair, brushing it away from her face, and she surges forward, sliding up so she can kiss him more deeply. After, they look at one another, one of those silent conversations, this one so full of joy…

“Am I getting the hint you’re ready for round two?” he asks, smiling. Bella buries her head against his chest for a moment, then pops up to smile ruefully. 

“Actually, I think I need a bit of nap. I get a little caught up, kissing you.” 

Thorin blows out a relieved breath. “Me, too. On both counts.” She laughs and wiggles closer for another kiss, then curls up with her head on his shoulder, her legs tangled with his. It’s so easy, settled like this with her, that a wave of belonging, so strong, sweeps through his chest, tightens his throat. He strokes down the fall of her hair until he can speak.

“Bella. Is it too soon to say?” he asks, his voice rasping. 

Bella lifts her head, studies his face and her smile becomes radiant. “Not when I’ve seen it on your face all night.” She shifts slightly, considering him, and reaches to stroke his cheek. “And not just tonight,” she whispers. “Thorin.” 

He nudges at her hand with his nose and kisses her palm. “I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you,” he confesses, his lips brushing against her skin. “And the more I know you, the more that feeling deepens.” He feels more than sees her nod. 

“Same,” she says, her voice voice is choked with emotion. “Oh, darling man…”

Thorin pulls her close, and drops kisses on her temple, her cheekbone, her trembling eyelids, before pressing a soft kiss against her mouth. 

“I plan to see you know it. Always. I love you.” 

“Thorin,” she whispers, voice a little shaky, and presses kisses against his lips. “Thorin, I do. And I love you.” 

“Oh good,” he replies, voice cracking, leaning back to look into her lovely face. “You’re so very reserved, that I….” 

“Oh you shut up,” she growls, laughing and moving closer to kiss and kiss him. “Horrible darling.” 

~~~

Some time in the night Thorin wakes, turning toward her. The city lights outside her window are enough to paint the room in soft shades of grey, enough light to see her. He puts his arm around her waist and kisses her forehead. Bella’s eyes open and she smiles, drowsy. 

Bella strokes his chest and leans in to kiss him. Slow dreamy kisses turn sultry, and Thorin finds himself melting into them, entranced. She sighs happily and sways closer. A moment later he is groaning softly into her mouth, because Bella’s stroking hand has slid down his belly to his cock, and with a few confident pulls, she’s taken him from half-hard to helplessly thrusting up into her hand. 

She pushes him (with little resistance) onto his back. Her hand is replaced by her sliding over him, tantalizingly close and not quite wet enough for him to slip inside. She kneels over him, her hand dipping down to massage her clit, her hips rocking, a sweet torment. He’s brushed aside when he moves to help her, mischief lighting her face. 

It seems his part in this silent dance is that he’s allowed to cup her hips, to slide a hand up her waist to her breast, revel in her creamy, soft skin, to worry her nipples in the same sort of torment she’s visiting on him. He has to stop and simply hold on, moaning when the slide of her grows slicker, when her breath is coming in short, pleased pants. 

Thorin hears, coming from his own throat, soft sounds of frustration and want. He flexes his hips, rubs against her and she groans and leans forward, her hands braced on his chest, just the tip of his cock his nudging against her folds as she kisses him. He keeps rocking until she mewls against his mouth, caught up in her now-familiar trembles, pleasure pulling her under. Thorin’s hand finds one breast, and he rolls her nipple in his fingers, long, rolling pinches until she is groaning deeply.

He curls himself up so she can still slide against him while he lavishes attention on her breasts. He catches her safe in his arms, drunk on her cries, on the way she moves, the silk of her skin under his hands, and not least, the glorious slide of her against his cock. 

She breaks, soft and long, shuddering against him. Her low cries urging him on, he suckles just a bit harder, and she comes again, so wet now that he is groaning, panting against her breast, very close to begging. 

Bella offers a lavish kiss as she slides back over him, teases him until sounds he doesn’t recognize are coming from his mouth.

She is poised above him, hand on his cock to guide him in when he blinks back to clarity. He scrabbles under his pillow for his stashed condoms, offers one. She raises her eyebrows. He tilts his head and regards her seriously. He offers it again. Bella bends her head gracefully, quickly puts the thing on him, and with a sweet smile, takes him in in one smooth undulation, then holds him there, squeezing tight, as she gives him a look that promises more pleasant torture. 

And god, she does, trying almost more thrusts and angles than he can bear, never quite settling into a rhythm, until she finds one, leaning forward with a little swivel of her hips, that tears a cry from both their throats. After a quick grin, Bella proceeds to slowly, slowly drive him mad, watching her above him, nearly lost in pleasure, and absolutely aware of how much he wants her, wants this, by his agonized pants and the way he slowly (obediently) answers her every thrust. 

When she is trembling hard enough she must brace her hands against his chest, and the new angle is apparently hitting her just right as she finally (finally finally) speeds up. Thorin’s hands slide to her hips, to guide and help her add more force and oh god, she is so, she feels so good and oh she tightens around him and _holds_ while she rides him, lifting her head enough to give him a smile of pure evil. He laughs, plants his feet on the bed and tilts his hips. 

Bella wails at the change in pressure on her clit, and in several more thrusts is rippling around him, panting and crying out as she shudders, and he can see this time, see the pleasure on her face, beautiful, so beautiful, radiant, and he comes in a long slow wave of pleasure just as she’s shaking through the aftershocks, looking into her eyes, and that, that is so much, she is everything he…. 

Thorin grits his teeth and keeps up his thrusts, hoping to draw out her pleasure, and her hips stutter, her breath comes out in a surprised pant, and he has the strength to tilt her forward a little more, draw out one more orgasm for her, still buried inside her, his mouth on her breast. 

Her soft cry, her final ripples around him are just the, she is so...Thorin slides his hands down her back and back up into her hair, pushing it behind her shoulders, and he tips his head back for a kiss and gets one, breathless and lovely. She sighs, after, and rubs her nose against his and curls up on his chest.

Thorin wraps his arms around her, kisses her hair, basks in the feeling of her surrounding him, more content than he can ever remember. 

Bella melts a little more against chest a bit and her breathing slows. Thorin scrabbles a few brain cells together and realizes he’s got a condom to dispose of and a lover to get in a position that won’t give her legs a cramp. He eases her to the side, and she makes a sleepy, adorable sound of regret when he slips out of her. He feels the same. 

Thorin wanders to the bathroom, still wrapped in dreamy haze, and comes back with a warm cloth and towel for her. She drowsily rolls over at his nudge, and allows him to care for her, smiling tenderly at him all the while, stroking whatever bits of him, hands, arms, she can reach. 

He is shaken again for how much he feels for her, shaken so that his throat is tight, his eyes sting, but he holds her gaze, and hopes his care and his expression can speak for him. He bends down to kiss her, and as he pulls back, she cups his cheek to draw him back in. 

“I love you, too,” she whispers, and he kisses her again, this time in thanks, because that was what he was saying, after all.

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go. A nice stopping point.
> 
> I posted this final chapter as is because I...just couldn't stand having this hanging over my head anymore. I'm tired of being poked about it and reminded of this failure to finish. So. I'm declaring it finished. 
> 
> Oh, and the image that would not let me go was the elevator scene. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm afraid, darling readers, this might be one of my sprawling behemoths. So much headcanon. And I've GOT to get back to Pearl, which I'm avoiding because of Dreaded Exposition and stuff. ::sighs:: Sorry/Not Sorry.
> 
> So, hmm, I've completely made up many things, like a department for Landscape Architecture & Design at Cambridge. Many things I have half-remembered from the time Mr.Bead and I did the production and design of the (American) Time Saver Standards for Landscape Architecture back in the mid-90's, THE bible of the landscape architect, and something you really wouldn't want to drop on your foot, as its' weight rivals my Riverside Shakespeare textbook, the one that gave me permanent tennis elbow. L.Arch (or at least that book) is often more about public spaces and proper drainage than it is about plants sometimes, so I threw in Bella's design degree as well. 
> 
> I expect I shall be fudging a great deal of facts because dammit Jim, I'm an actor, not an architect. 
> 
> Frank Cavatelli sprung, fully formed, from the more weird recesses of my mind. His cab number is Robert DeNiro's, obtained for his filming of Taxi Driver. I found it on an image search, and that was seriously too cool to pass up.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [She Walks In Beauty Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040751) by [Shivi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivi/pseuds/Shivi)
  * [Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123785) by [igrab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrab/pseuds/igrab)




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